Changeling
by romantiscue
Summary: Feeling like he and his friends have drifted apart, Harry makes the choice to start over somewhere new. He should have known that even in another world, trouble would still find him; this time in the form of a strange detective. Deaged!Genius!ESP!Harry
1. The Death Card

**Harry: CHanges Worlds**

**This is an AU fic. **

**---**

**Chapter One: The Death Card**

_Symbolizes transformation, passage and change_

Harry gathered the papers spread over his desk into a pile, sighing. It was his last day, though nobody but he knew it. Working as a highly respected Unspeakable and reluctantly decorated war hero had it perks, so he had been able to conduct his research in complete secrecy. He hadn't even been questioned when he told Kingsley that he wanted to spend some time in the Death Chamber, and since Kingsley was the Minister, anybody who might have disagreed with his request kept their mouths firmly shut.

He had been going over the older notes on the Veil one day a few months back, surprised and dismayed that no research had been conducted on the Veil since before Crouch Sr. time, and had decided to see if he could find out anything more about the Veil and where it lead. Apparently the Veil was not, as was generally believed by the workers in the ministry, a portal to the Death Realm, but something else. And it was that 'something else' that Harry had been so eager to pin-point.

After several months and a lot of over-time, Harry had found a tentative answer to his question. The veil was a gateway- to everywhere and nowhere. The gateway was like a map between the different realms, which one under special circumstances could pass through. He hadn't found anything but vague answers as to how this worked and had summed it up the way most muggle-raised kids did when confronted about the inconsistencies and over-all weirdness that was Hogwarts- it was simply magic.

And so, because not many people were allowed to pass through the Veil and beyond, they died when entering the gateway, their bodies disappearing to Merlin-knows-where. This was what had made it such a popular execution tool in the past. Just throw the criminal in there and 'poof' (well, not really) they were gone; typical of the lazy wizards to choose such a simple solution, despite not having all the facts. Out of sight, out of mind.

At any rate, eventually, the idea that had been tickling the edges of his thoughts slammed to the forefront of his mind like a sledge-hammer, throwing his semi-routined after-war life into invisible chaos. He carefully maneuvered around his few remaining friends questions, as he turned things over in his mind. It was a selfish decision, he knew. The most selfish one he had ever made, should he actually put it into action.

But really, his friends were safe and sound, planning weddings and babies (Ron and Hermione) or Snorkack/herbs hunting trips (Neville and Luna) - they had each other, and that was where their thoughts were focused. Harry knew it wasn't intentional, and like Hermione had so often chided him about, he had a tendency to pull away and go off on his own more than most people.

They'd miss him terribly if he left, and he'd miss them like a hole in his heart as well. But he was equally sure that they would move on- surely holding him in their hearts, the way he still held Sirius and everyone else that had been lost to the war- as long as he assured them that this was what he wanted. He doubted it would even take them much time to accept his decision, because they were so much more involved in their own families and personal conquests that he hadn't really, _truly_, spoken to them for months.

He would say his goodbyes by letter, not out of cowardice, but because otherwise they'd never let him leave- they might even feel obligated to go with him, despite the fact that their whole lives where irrevocably bound to this realm.

Harry didn't fit in here though. He never really felt like he had, perhaps because of the Dursley's or possibly because of all the ugliness he had been confronted with since he first entered the wizarding world. The wizards in general were so very fickle, so willing to abandon him at the drop of a hat, but he had loved them anyway. Loved them with the intensity of a non-existent childhood and Gryffindor obstinacy and loyalty- but it wasn't enough. His childhood was long gone, his Gryffindor tendencies faded and burnt out with the progress of the war. He was tired.

His friends had been enough for him. Knowing that his friends had his back no matter what had kept him going. But the war was over and his purpose spent, and his friends evolved into people he couldn't quite follow. Maybe it was their happiness and lack of worry that got to him, or maybe it was their carefree smiles that radiated a peace and contentment he himself couldn't find.

Or maybe it was the fact that when together, they were starting to spend more time in awkward silence than the chit-chatter that had filled their youthful days at Hogwarts. He did not want to drift apart from them all, and that was what was happening, slowly but surely- and this knowledge was like a slowly twisting knife in his heart.

It wasn't that he wanted another purpose as dangerous as the one he had fulfilled; if he had wanted that he could have joined up with the Aurors, like he had originally planned for. Rather it was the fact that his friends- and the wizards in general- could still be so naive in their worldview. Their so-called Light-oriented society gave him a headache.

So many of the other races- the 'lower' species- were still suppressed and looked down on. The were-wolves, for example. How it hurt his head to see the wizards treat Remus' kind like filth, despite his bravery in the war. How it made his chest ache at the thought of the Centaurs- Firenze, who had stood by them when none other of his kind were willing to- still seen as worthless in comparison to the wizards.

This was not the conclusion he had been fighting for. This was not what he had wanted, or expected. And he was tired- he didn't want to go on another crusade (though his friends would stay by him, even then), force another revolution and watch the world burn around him in verbal battles and bigoted words.

Harry finished up his letter and put it on the top of the precariously balanced pile of random overdue paperwork. He hoped this would be enough, because he was passing on the baton- to Hermione, first and foremost. She could force the change they needed; she could fight with words in a way he had never been able to.

_Everyone,_

_I am leaving the wizarding world. I won't bore you with my reasons, because I think you'll understand without me having to explain myself. If not, ask 'mione, you all know she's too perceptive for her own good._

_Hermione, remember S.P.E.W? (Ron, stop sniggering) I think this world needs a S.P.E.W for all races. I know that if you're motivated, all of you, you can change things. Not that I'd blame you if you too have had enough._

_I know you'll eventually figure out where I've gone, but you'll also understand that you can't follow._

_This is the fruit of my selfishness, my weakness and my world-weariness.__ I'm__ sorry, but I've had enough of the hypocrisy that permeates our world._

_I love you all, always._

_Harry _

Harry very deliberately chose a few words that only Hermione would use in casual conversation, mostly so that his friends would realize that this was a decision he had actually thoroughly planned, and not a gambit he played because he was bored with the world in general. (And so what if he had had to look up 'permeates' in the dictionary?)

Without any more preparation- because really, throwing yourself into an alternate universe/possible death wasn't something you could really prepare for- he exited his office, closing and warding the door as usual, and walked along the winding corridors of the DoM towards the death Chamber. He waved casually to a few coworkers, covering up the light trembling of his hands by putting them into his pockets.

Harry wouldn't deny that he was nervous – _scared _- but he didn't have to outright acknowledge it either, it was enough that he knew it in the back of his mind. That's what he usually did during the war, and it was a habit he'd never broken out of. The political scene in England after the war didn't permit him to show his disconcertion openly; heroes didn't cry, as was well known.

The door to the Death Chamber was inconspicuously conspicuous; just a normal-sized black door with a golden handle. Compared to the lavishness of most other entrances in the ministry it was practically invisible. But then, that suited this particular door perfectly.

The Death Chamber looked like it always had, empty except for the archway with its tattered curtain blowing in the non-existent breeze. The same luring urge that had called both Harry and Luna to its depths years before embraced him. The whispers called out to him, not quite reaching him but sweeping by his ears like an echo of the past.

He stepped up the few steps to the platform upon which the archway was standing and spent several seconds just gazing into its half-hidden depths, trying to glean something from the invisible space the tatters covered. He was afraid. The eerie voices and the coldness that enveloped him the closer he moved towards the archway heightened his fright, and he took a discreet breath to calm his pounding heart.

He wasn't sure why he felt like he had to hide his fear from the veil. Perhaps it was its oppressive presence that reminded him of standing in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts or of the graveyard in Little Hangleton, making him have to force himself not to step backwards.

He shook his head slightly and strengthened his resolve. He knew that this was what he was going to do. He had been planning it for months and he wasn't going to let this irrational fear stop him. Even if the fear wasn't really irrational. Well, he was still a Gryffindor. Recklessness was in his blood, even if he didn't let it control as he once had.

Inhaling deeply, he let a devil-may-care grin twist his lips, and ran.

He passed the tattered cloth, which caressed his skin like a secret kiss, and everything went black. He was choking, sputtering, flailing in the blackness seeping into him, under his skin, into his bones to pierce at the core- at everything that was _Harry_. Every memory, every laugh, every tear, laid bare to the blackness.

He was being watched. The blackness saw him, he could feel it. Even as the painful memories of the final battle flashed in front of his eyes, forced as if by legilimency, he could do nothing to fight it.

Years passed in a few seconds, and Harry felt wrung out and fatigued, floating dazedly in nowhere. He was almost resigned to death claiming him- since apparently he wasn't going to move from this place- when he heard a voice.

It was the whispers, only now they seemed to have multiplied and heightened to sound like church bells or a choir, coming from every direction at once. The voices blended into a cacophony of agelessness and Harry spun his head uselessly to locate the source of the voices.

_**Harry… Harry… Harry…**_

_**You have come to us… to find your place… you are**_

…_**deserving**_

_**You have fought long… **_

…_**selflessly**_

_**We will grant you…**_

…_**your wish…**_

From the darkness a small flame appeared. It flared and pulsated, twisting around itself like Saturn's rings as the voices spoke. Its color was too purple to be considered red and too red to be considered indigo. Instead, the core burnt magenta, while the flames sparked auburn… and for some reason, it reminded Harry of a human heart. The thought was comforting, and Harry felt some of the tension drain from his air-suspended body.

"You will?" his voice sounded small and strangely flat next to the godlike veil's. The darkness was radiating something that felt almost like safety, and Harry waited for it to continue, not caring about what exactly the voices actually was.

_**You are tired…**_

…_**of magic…**_

…_**your place is not within…**_

…_**this world's 'magical community'…**_

Harry nodded redundantly, agreeing. His place was not here, which is why he wanted to leave.

…_**and yet, your magic is too strong for you to leave it behind…**_

…_**but the balance must be maintained…**_

…_**should you leave… your magic will not**_

…_**remain the same…**_

_**The balance… balance… the balance must be maintained…**_

The voices echoed, emphasizing the importance. Harry felt a clenching of fear; his magic was a rather large part of what he was. It was his security blanket if nothing else… but he had been prepared for this; if he left for a world without wizards, he hadn't been expecting to keep his magic. And yet… being confronted with it like this…

_**Fear not, Harry…**_

…_**the world you came from is the only realm so completely involved…**_

…_**with magic, but it is not the only realm with any magic what so ever…**_

…_**the world you now have the opportunity to join is one reviewed by…**_

…_**shinigami, Gods of death…**_

Harry felt his mouth fall open slightly. _Gods of death?!_ For all the weirdness in his own world, Gods had never been involved in the happenings as far as he knew… though prophecies must come from somewhere, he supposed.

The flame flashed, and Harry started. For a moment it seemed to be pulling in on itself, but then a sudden shower of sparks cascaded upwards. A series of pictures began playing like a movie inside the fire, made glowing by the flames.

A deserted landscape, inhabited by ugly looking creatures…

_**Shinigami…**_

The picture drew closer to one of the shinigami, providing a clear shot of a black book with a row of ominous-looking signs he couldn't decipher written on the cover.

Harry listened tensely as the voices briefly summarized what the Death Notes were, and what they were used for. He couldn't say he really liked the idea of being killed because his name was written down by one of the shinigami.

…_**fear not, Harry...**_

_**You are…**_

…_**out of this world… the Death Notes…**_

…_**may not touch you… **_

Harry admitted quietly that knowing his death would not be determined by the whims of the shinigami reassured him. He wouldn't have wanted to plop down to that world, only to suddenly die because his name was picked up by one of them. His internal musings were interrupted by the flame's voice;

_**Should you enter this world…**_

…_**your wizard magic will be forfeit…**_

…_**but in its place you shall receive gifts.**_

…_**What do the 'muggles' know of magic, Harry?**_

Harry thought about the question, not wanting to answer the flames incorrectly. Muggles didn't believe in 'fairytale' magic, but was there any other kind?… he racked his brain, trying to remember if he had read anything about magic before coming to Hogwarts.

Slowly a few memories returned to him; Dudley speaking about a TV show so long ago, before Vernon and Petunia forced fear of the 'unnatural' into him… What had it been?.. It had been a shortening of something else… something along the lines of "Extra-something-perception"… E.M.P? E.L.P? …No, _E.S.P_! Extra _sensory_ perception!

The flames flared again, in what Harry almost saw as an expression, as a smile, though he' s not sure why.

…_**In the 'muggle' part of the world, Extra Sensory Perception and Psi abilities also…**_

… _**somewhat inaccurately includes…**_

…_**telekinesis… clairvoyance… water scrying… empathy…**_

…_**and these gifts shall be yours, together with…**_

…_**heightened intelligence… eidetic memory… **_

…_**perfect eyesight and hearing…and perfect muscle memory…**_

…_**in exchange for all your magic, should you accept…**_

Harry spent a few minutes in silence, thinking over the offer, which was a lot more generous than he had been expecting. His decision was already made, at any rate, and even if the voices had told him that he would be stripped of all his magic without getting anything in return, he would still have accepted.

He cleared his throat quietly. "Does this mean that there are other people with these abilities in that world?" he asked carefully, not sure what answer he was hoping to receive.

… _**Very, very few… it is…**_

…_**doubtful that you will ever meet any…**_

…_**even if you should, they will likely not be as powerful as yourself.**_

Harry nodded, feeling kind of exhausted. He would have asked how powerful he was, but if he was the most powerful of the few that did exist, then there wasn't much point in doing so.

"And that world is completely muggle? I'll end up in muggle England, where the ministry is in this world?"

_**Yes, that realm is the same as your own, with very few exceptions…**_

…_**but because its lack of magic… and time-turners, in particular... **_

…_**its timeline runs faster than your own, so…**_

…_**you will find yourself a few months ahead of this time…**_

Harry blinked. Time-turners slowed down time? That wasn't known to the wizards, or at least he hadn't known… he shook his head and straightened as much as he could in his position.

"I accept." As the world dissolved in black smoke, he felt the flames embrace him with care. The blackness that had reached into him before grasped at something inside him and pulled. Harry screamed hoarsely – the pain was _blinding_ - and fell backwards. The agony built and reached its peak within seconds, and Harry fainted.

Harry awoke in darkness, blinking dazedly. He was lying on cold, hard concrete and small stones were poking his back uncomfortably. It took him a few minutes of confused staring to remember what had transpired and he shifted uneasily when he remembered his magic being forcibly torn from him.

The pain easily transcended the Cruciatus Curse. He hadn't even know how deeply rooted the magic had been to him, and the loss felt even more devastating than he thought it would. It was like a void inside his body, like he was missing a piece of his heart or one of his limbs.

Harry swallowed, wondering if he had made the right choice after all. He hadn't expected it to feel this bad… hadn't expected to feel so _incomplete_, hadn't expected to feel the loss so clearly. He swallowed once more, working down the lump that was forming in his throat.

He had made his choice, and breaking down minutes after coming here would be both thankless and potentially dangerous.

He stood up carefully, surprised to find that his body was without pain, even if it felt slightly strange in its movements. He stretched his arms out and frowned, hadn't his arms been longer than this? It was hard to see much in the near complete darkness, but they looked even thinner than what he was used to.

He jumped up and down, feeling the way his calves shifted to adjust to his weight… which most definitely was not the weight of an adult. His body was small and light in a way it hadn't been for a very long time, and suddenly Harry had a feeling that he should have stopped and asked a few more questions before he accepted the flames' deal.

His clothes were hanging around him like a giant potato sack, slipping off his shoulders and hips. Harry shivered as the draft chilled his skin and went to tighten his belt (to the last hole, which was still a bit too large for him). He pushed the disconcertion to the back of his mind for the moment, concentrating on –more now- the more important matter.

He licked his index finger and held it up to feel for where the air was blowing into the building. Hopefully he'd be able to locate the exit this way.

He thought he the draft felt stronger to the left and walked in that direction unsurely, trying to navigate around the random junk spread across the ground by his feet.

Reaching the far left of the room, Harry finally noticed the gigantic metallic doors from which the wind was blowing in. Now that he was standing do close to the doors, he heard it rattle in its hinges slightly, and the very faint light coming from beyond the threshold at the very bottom.

The doors were fortunately locked with a simple clasp, and he easily pushed it up above the holders, causing the door to groan as it opened.

The light was harsh to his eyes and he blinked blearily, trying to adjust. It took almost a minute for the dancing spots to disappear from his vision, but when they did, he immediately slipped into Unspeakable mood to categorize his new surroundings.

What he had not been prepared for, however, was how quickly his brain would assimilate the collective impressions to form a cohesive picture of the sunbathed outside.

After a few seconds he had realized that he was in some form of junk yard, littered alternatively with scrapped cars and gigantic containers. Everything was clad in dirt and grease, but he could also smell something salty in the air, thusly presuming that he was near the sea. He immediately measured the containers to be 3 m tall and 6 m broad respectively and that though they at first glance might seem to be placed out haphazardly, they were in fact spread out 20 m apart and rotated ca 1.5 m to the right per container.

Harry closed his eyes, pressing his fingertips to his temple to try and stem the overflow of information assaulting his brain. But having closed his eyes did nothing to making him forget the picture of the junkyard; he knew without needing to reopen them, that to his immediate left were 6 discarded cars, and to his right there were 12, arranged in no particular way. He felt his blood flow to his head, the dizziness heightening his impending headache.

He knew what was happening, of course. He just hadn't expected it to be so painful and distracting. Was this how Hermione felt, always..? No, that was ridiculous, so he discarded the notion straight away. His body was probably just struggling to keep up with his brain's 'rewiring', and would take a while to adjust.

He exhaled slowly, massaging his temples in circular motions. He didn't know why he had expected it to be easy, because _everything_ came at a price; he had known that since early childhood.

Well, his first early childhood. Harry frowned, looking at his tiny fingers through narrowed eyes. This was seriously messed up (just like everything in his life always was) but instead of the internal temper tantrum he might have thrown in the past, his first thought was how to acclimate himself to it.

He didn't really notice the change in his thought-process until after he had come up with several scenarios where his smaller body could be worked to his advantage, also realizing that it would require him to relearn his fighting skills, since his body wasn't even nearly up to par strength-wise. He had always been a rather short guy, so his fighting style had been geared towards speed and endurance rather than power, but his now shorter reach would hinder him should he attempt to fight without having gotten used to his body.

Harry paced, measuring his strides and the movements of the leg muscles. His steps were about 1:2 difference in length from his older body, he guessed. He was also a bit shaky, though that might have been from his now pounding headache. He paced back and forth a few times, easing into his walk and the flow of his movements. His body was a lot more uncontrolled than he remembered it, though he supposed that came with this body's young age.

He walked around the empty junkyard for around an hour before he felt confident that he wouldn't fall flat on his face in public by tripping over his too-large clothes, and then attempted to locate the exit. It wasn't as hard as it had been from inside the dark container, since this time he could navigate towards the sound of cars in the distance.

As he walked towards the humming noise of the streets he reviewed his options. He had been cautious enough to bring a small sum of money with him through the veil (leaving the rest to Hermione and the others), but that money could only be used for temporary materialistic things. It would not ensure his safety.

Harry stopped, tilting his head to look at himself in one of the car's rear-view mirrors as he thought. A small part of his mind noted how …well, _young_, he looked, while the rest of his mind whirled with half-shaped plans, discarding many and puzzling a few together to be observed from other angles.

First, whatever he decided to do afterwards, he needed to check on his location. Being aware of one's surroundings at all times was important no matter where you were. He'd work from there.

The slim wall that separated the yard from the rest of the world had several half-opened doors at even intervals, and Harry chose one near a large pile of stacked cars (which he could use to hide behind, should it become necessary for whatever reason) and approached it cautiously.

The street noises grew louder, growling car engines coupled with intermingling voices and buzzing electronic. Harry briefly turned his gaze heavenwards and followed the electrical cords that obstructed his view with his eyes. It sparked and crackled ominously, and he wondered if it was still in working order.

Across the dirty street stood a rusty, askew sign proclaiming "**Portsmouth harbor, 1 km**", with the arrow pointing diagonally towards him and to the left. So that was why he could smell sea water, the breeze must be carrying it from the port.

He wondered how he'd ended up at the edge of Hampshire, whether it was coincidence or served some as of yet unknown purpose. He took a few steps outside, holding up the door behind him as he turned his head from side to side to make sense of the street. A few pedestrians shot him odd looks- some pitying, some distaining- and Harry ducked back into the yard before anyone decided to talk to him.

He crouched down on the ground beside the door and clasped his small hands between his knees as he thought. He had seen a metro station sign to his left, but not much else that could be of use. And before he even contemplated going on the metro, he needed to know where he was going and why.

Harry tapped his fingers on his knuckles, making a mental list of what basic objectives he should be working towards to establish himself in this new world.

1. A base, preferably an isolated one

2. Income

3. Sustenance

4. Information source, preferably a public library

The problems he expected to encounter were really only 'helpful' people, who might inform social services or the police of him, thinking that he was a homeless kid (… which he technically was, but that was beside the point).

After a minute he had a few tentative starting points for his goals;

1. He could stick to the junkyard as a base, for now, and sleep in one of the semi-whole cars.

2 and 3. The second point was the most problematic one, since nobody sane would hire a kid to do anything (especially not without their parents' permission), but he knew of a nearby homeless shelter in his old world that hopefully existed here as well, where if he was careful, he could retrieve free food and clothing.

4. The only reason he knew where the public library in Portsmouth was located was because of Hermione. During the war she had ordered several books on Old English (Anglo-Saxon, futhorc) and ancient Greek from the specialized section of this particular library, when they had been trying to decipher some older scriptures.

They had spent weeks (and one Memoriam potion each) learning the two languages, with Hermione as a rather demanding taskmaster. Coupled with Latin and Gaelic, those were the two languages mostly used for the older magic texts. At the time, they had moaned and groaned about having to learn, but it had come in very handy when deciphering the wards around Voldemort's headquarters and later, Gringotts.

Since Latin was still very commonly used in wizarding society, you were required to learn it during your time at Hogwarts, or you'd end up not understanding some of the more advanced class work, and with Latin came Gaelic, since the true 'traditionalists' (that is to say, the stofil purebloods) wrote in an amalgamation of the two.

In the end, at the completion his Unspeakable training, he was fluent in the four languages –both in written form and spoken- with the addition of Old Norse (futhark), Celtiberian, Gaulish, ancient Egyptian, Cuneiform (script), Sanskrit, Sumerian, modern Arabic and Hindi-Urdu. The only actual magical languages he spoke besides Parseltongue were Mermish and the elvish Quenya.

It was an unspoken requirement that one should use at least a year of Unspeakable training to study different languages, especially if the Unspeakable in question was aiming to work for the research department, like Harry had been.

Since pretty much everything they studied in the department was very, very old, you had to learn at least a few of these otherwise completely useless languages to be able to properly study whatever artifacts or scrolls you came across in their work. Most of the serious researchers had mastered more than a few; the department head, Giuseppe Mezzofanti, spoke over 70 different languages and dialects- both very old and modern ones.

Still, it wasn't like those languages would be of any use in the present situation. Harry snapped out of his reverie and shook his head. Focus on the here and now…

Right, first he needed to find the library and read up on the present's history. Then retrieve food, and return here to find a place to sleep for the night. He rose up clumsily and stalked (with as much confidence he could muster) out through the door.

---

Harry blinked at the newspaper in his hands and drew one finger across the date written at the front page: May 19th, 2000. He really had jumped ahead in time, by nine months, no less. Harry turned his face to the ceiling and rested his head on the chair's back, sighing. He wasn't really surprised, and it wasn't like it even mattered… still, there was something very ominous and irrevocable in the way those hard black letters glared up at him from the paper.

He massaged his temples again, feeling his headache worsening at his rushing thoughts. He put the paper down blindly and rubbed his face wearily. There was a lot of information to take in so hastily, and Harry was surprised (and pleased, despite his headache) to find that he could both completely comprehend, and remember everything he read after skimming through it only once. It was a very useful skill to have.

He had found his way to the library with ease, hiding first in the rushing masses that occupied the metro and then playing the 'happy child' when he came to the library. It was all in the body language, Harry knew- if he didn't behave like a homeless orphan, there was a large chance he wouldn't be seen as one either, as long as nobody looked too closely at him.

He shoved the newspaper to the far end of the table and picked up "**Notable events of the past decade**", glancing over the index before cracking it open at the first page. It was a newly written book, and Harry suspected it was exactly what he needed. Even before, he hadn't been very aware of what was going on in the muggle world, so he could honestly say that he was curious what the people who hadn't been fighting a magical war had been up to.

There had been a lot of killed politicians and apprehended gang leaders, but very few crimes that surprised Harry. There were some events, however…

One of the more recurring things over the later chapters was the name (…or title, or denomination) '**L**'. There was a whole chapter dedicated to the "mysterious super-sleuth" who had been solving seemingly impossible cases for over half a decade. At the title page was a gigantic gothic **L**, the only 'face' anyone had ever associated with the detective. It was intriguing, especially coupled with the detective's very long - known- list of solved cases.

Harry was glad that not many things had changed (at least he didn't think they had, he wasn't sure if there had been any anonymous super-detectives in his old world) and that everything seemed to be moving according to the same timeline as before. Plus, no mentions of any unexplainable deaths that could have been attributed to the Killing curse for those in the know… and no mention about those Shinigami creatures the flames had shown him.

Harry frowned and cracked open one of the books on mythology he had got from the '**Oriental Cultures**' sections, frowning more at the inaccurate picture of the Gods of Death depicted on one of its pages. He doubted any books would be of help for this particular subject, which was an incredible shame, since he was rather curious of the creatures (and slightly wary despite the flames' reassurances.)

Harry sighed again, not noticing the pair of curious eyes that had been resting on him for the past half an hour.

* * *

**A/N:** Tell me what you think! This is only the prologue, so not much happens, but I'll introduce some other characters – and get the plot moving - within the next few chapters. If you have any questions, please ask.

Giuseppe Caspar Mezzofanti was an actual person. He lived from 1774 to 1849, and fluently spoke 38 languages and about 40 different dialects. There have been even more impressive multilinguals in the past; Emil Krebs fluently spoke 68 different languages, and Sir John Bowstring could reportedly speak in over 100 (plus some 200 dialects).

Many thanks to 'wyrm, who encouraged me to post this.

Tarot meanings from: http :// www . aeclectic . net / tarot / learn / meanings /

(Remember Mortality has _not_ been abandoned, I've just lost my muse for that story for the moment. Figured it would be better to post something, to show you that I am indeed still alive, even if it wasn't RM.)


	2. The Queen of Cups

**Disclaimer:** The first and only time I'll be doing this, since it feels utterly redundant; this is a fanfiction site, so of course I don't own anything. Death Note and Harry Potter belongs to their respective artists/authors.

**Warning** for an OC in this chapter. For those of you that dislikes OC's; don't worry, she's temporary.

**Chapter two: Court Card: The Queen of Cups**

_Denotes, among other things, psychic powers or the growth of a family. The Queen of Cups is the "mom's mom", caring and intuitive about emotional problems and always ready to give a helping hand._

* * *

**May 20**

There was something about that boy, Christine Jensen thought as she quietly gathered and replaced returned books to their places on the shelves. She had always been an observant person, especially when it came to other people, and this small black-haired child was someone she had noticed very quickly.

She had barely registered him when he first came into the library, thinking him one of the children from the daycare center around the corner, but the next day upon his return, she had noticed him straight away. She couldn't say why, because at first glance he didn't stand out at all; with a childish smile turning his lips upwards and a skip in his step, he was the epitome of an average happy-go-lucky boy of around six or so, despite his too-large clothing.

But she had looked closer when she was making her regular round through the library and noticed him sitting quietly in a corner, reading a large book. The fact that such a young child was reading quietly was enough to make her do a double take, but when he moved the large book and accidentally revealed its cover, she stopped moving to stare.

He was reading '**Relativistic cosmology: A complete treatise on the perihelion advance of Mercury**'. She couldn't even properly pronounce the title and didn't know what the child, _any_ child under to 18, could possibly be doing with it. She absently bent down to pick up a fallen book from the floor and shot the boy another glance from under her fringe.

He looked very focused, but he was turning the pages much too quickly to be reading it. Christine blinked and shook her head, a small amused smile straining her lips. Of course he wasn't actually reading. The mere thought was ridiculous. What had she been thinking?

Christine placed the small book on the shelf and despite herself, paused and half-turned towards the small boy again. She _was_ good at reading people, and there was still something tugging at her mind, telling her that she was missing something.

After a moment she slid her eyes from his face to the table upon which the book was resting. Spread all over the surface were papers filled with scribbles that she couldn't read at this distance. What she could see though, did not look like the sloppy handwriting one usually saw from children at that age.

She squinted carefully. From what she could see over the shelf she was half-hidden behind, the boy's script was graceful, with a loopy, cursive tilt to the letters. She frowned in confusion and half-formed astonishment. _Was_ he reading after all?

---

**May 23, morning**

Christine had been watching the boy for days now, and she had confirmed her vague suspicions. He _was_- impossibly, amazingly- reading those difficult books. After the treatise he had been so absorbed in three days ago she had seen him also plow through, '**Infinitesimal calculus**', '**Behavioral neuroscience: ****Transcranial magnetic stimulation**', '**Developmental psychology: moral development**' and '**The influence of Neo-Platonist philosophies in Ancient times**'. She wasn't sure if he had noticed her watching him, however, because he rarely looked up from his diligent writing.

Christine had picked up one of his discarded papers just before closing up the library yesterday and with near reverence she read his notes on **Developmental psychology**, where he recited theories written and gave his own opinions on them, relating them to other complex hypothesizes that she couldn't follow at all.

She was officially gobsmacked. Who was this child? He had changed clothes several times since she first saw him, but all those clothes were obviously bought second-hand and he spent all his day in the library from the hour they opened until the hour they closed. Perhaps he was some kind of genius scholarship student..? But if that was the case, shouldn't he be at school during the day?

Christine had seriously entertained the thought that the boy was homeless, or that he came from a bad home situation, but hadn't yet alerted anyone to his presence. She didn't feel right in forcing him away from the library, if perhaps it was his only sanctuary. He didn't arrive to the library sporting bruises or limps, which relieved her, because if that had been the case she wouldn't have had a choice.

She frowned. Christine knew the feeling of being 'retrieved' by the 'authorities' who 'only wanted to help', and if possible, she wanted to spare him that. Having all your belongings thrown into one of those horrible black garbage bags and a never-ending flow of plastically smiling adults shaking your hand and mouthing empty words, did more harm than good. And a child as bright as this one would probably suffer greatly; the social services system was well-meaning, but didn't work the way it should be. Anyone who stood out had their uniqueness beaten out of them, she knew from personal experience.

She went to retrieve a cup of coffee from the small office behind the administrative desks, keeping a vigilant eye on the outside as she filled the small cup to the brim. Christine paused at the table in the middle of the room, staring at the fruit basket placed on top. Hesitating slightly, she closed her fist around an apple.

She balanced the coffee and sipped at the overflow as she walked. She wasn't sure the boy would accept her presence, with the way he stiffened every time anyone passed close to him, but she wanted to try.

Drawing closer to him, Christine made sure that he would be able to hear her coming. She wanted him to see she wasn't trying to sneak up on him. He still stiffened when he noticed her, though. Christine frowned inwardly, wondering what had made him so cautious. A child shouldn't feel the need to act like that.

"Hello," she greeted him lightly and watched him start like a deer in headlights. He bent his neck awkwardly to look up at her without moving his head too much and covered his notes with his arms.

"Hi," he greeted finally and Christine was captured by the clear jade of eyes. Never had she seen someone with eyes so green. His voice was soft with either cautiousness or fear, and when she pulled out a chair to seat herself in, she could almost feel his eyes on her.

She thrust the hand holding the apple across the table, offering it to him. Several moments went by in silence, and she feared she had made a mistake and scared him. But just as Christine was about to retract her arm, a small pale hand snuck over the table and hovered above the apple. She felt as if she was feeding a cornered animal, and that if she breathed too loudly he would take off running.

Suddenly he snatched the apple away and when he looked up- his lips quirking up in a semblance of a smile- she smiled reassuringly. He held the apple like a squirrel, biting off small chunks and chewing meticulously.

"What's your name, sweetie?" He froze and those green orbs snapped up to meet her brown eyes.

He hesitated for several seconds. "…Hadrian, ma'am." She hadn't expected him to be so polite, used to the daycare's kiddie-hellions, but she found herself unsurprised anyway. This Hadrian was something else, she had already known that.

"I'm Christine, and I work here as a librarian." She had to stop herself from talking to him the way she did automatically to younger children, with cooing noises interwoven in her voice. She didn't think Hadrian would appreciate that kind of attitude.

He nodded, still cautious even though he seemed a bit more relaxed. "I know." He paused, and something flickered in his eyes. "…You've been watching me, haven't you?" he asked quietly, sounding uncertain.

She felt her eyes widen involuntary, but huffed a laugh and nodded. This kid really was something else.

"Yes… I saw what you were reading the first day you came here, and I got curious." She shrugged, smiling apologetically.

Hadrian nodded slowly and edged another question. "…and what of it? My chosen reading material?" he definitely didn't speak like a normal child, at all. She was curious about why he wasn't trying to hide behind some kind of mask of childishness (which she had kind of expected him to), but realized that it was probably because he knew that she had seen him and not the happy-go-lucky child he was outwardly presenting at the start of every day.

"How old are you, Hadrian?" she asked with a smile in her voice. Hadrian rubbed his hands together in what looked to be an unconscious nervous gesture, hesitating obviously over his words before answering.

"I just turned- nine." His voice wavered slightly and Christine frowned, confused and a little worried. She wasn't sure why he sounded so unsure about his age, or if should ask him about it. In the end she let it go, since they had only just formally met.

She stayed speaking with him for several more minutes, returning the notes she had found yesterday and asking him why he was reading what he did. Hadrian explained what he was doing- alluding to complicated theorems and trailing off to even more complicated speculations, and in the end she learnt that he was translating the Neo-Platonist philosophies from the original ancient Greek illustrations in the '**The influence of Neo-Platonist philosophies in Ancient times**' to modern English, since he had found several inconsistencies in the book's translation.

Christine somehow wasn't as surprised as she thought she would have been, and she was almost sure he appreciated it when she only smiled and nodded without causing a scene.

She walked away with her head spinning to help the visitors at the front desk. She answered their questions absently, with less politeness than she would have usually shown, her thoughts still circling around Hadrian.

When she closed up that night, Hadrian nodded to her quietly, but she thought she saw his rigid features relax a little. It made her ridiculously pleased to think that this tiny boy full of secrets had given her even a smidgeon of his trust.

* * *

**May 29, morning**

Harry frowned down at the open book in front of him, unable to concentrate on the description of the Atomist universe and its exile. He had been devouring books on every subject he could find, working from the basics to the more advanced levels of all subjects. He had never enjoyed reading as much as he now did, with his brain in constant overdrive, assimilating information and connecting it to other things he had read or experienced.

At least once during every book he read and understood, he marveled at the gift he had been given. He could now completely sympathize with why Hermione had spent so much time in the library. When understanding such convoluted concepts as those described in the thick tomes came to him so easily, the satisfaction he got from finishing a difficult reading was almost comparable to how he felt after a won Quidditch match.

His headaches had been steadily decreasing in intensity and frequency, and he had established some kind of routine- if going to the library and staying there for as long as he was allowed could be considered a 'routine'- also somehow gaining good report with the middle-aged librarian named Christine, who fed him something every day and took the time to sit down and speak to him as often as she could.

He appreciated her company, because it prevented him to fall completely into isolation, which would definitely have happened otherwise. Also, despite her maternal nature she never acted patronizing, which made their talks more relaxed and equal. He would explain some of the things he was doing- translating scriptures and such- to her, and Christine would listen with a kind of rapt fascination that acutely reminded him of Hermione.

He had actually even requested a few of the books Hermione had once gotten from this library before, and Christine had promised to check with the auxiliatory libraries and see if they could be sent here for him.

She also told him a bit about her own life and how she had come to work at the library. It was calming somehow, to hear about such normal things, and he carefully spoke about Hogwarts and the friends he had made there… he never lied outright, but he tread very carefully with his words, which she seemed to sense. Christine never pushed for information or tried to trick him into saying more than he wanted, for which Harry was very grateful.

But now, as he sat frowning deeply at the pages of the Atomism book, his thoughts were far away from the library, focused on some of the other new aspects of his present situation. Namely, his other abilities. In discovering his new understanding and vast memory, he had almost forgotten about the other gifts he now possessed.

Until they made themselves felt. He had been sleeping in one of the cars at the junkyard, for once deep enough into sleep to dream- or more precisely, have nightmares. He had been reliving the death of Dobby when he awoke and found himself- _and the car in which he was sleeping_- jerking up and down like a marionette on a string, rattling and wheezing. The moment Harry calmed down enough to recognize his surroundings properly and calm his pounding heart the car had stopped its movements.

Had he been back in his old world, he would have called it accidental magic, but since he had no magic here he narrowed the plausible causes down to the one power he was supposed to possess that could cause a car to move seemingly of its own volition; telekinesis.

Harry spent a minute or so mentally smacking himself over the head for making this kind of gigantic oversight. How could he have been so careless? What if someone had been here and seen the car shake? Becoming so caught up in one of his abilities that he forgot everything else was the sort of mistake that got you killed in battle, and while he wasn't in war anymore, he was in unfamiliar territory with an unfamiliar body in _the middle of the night_.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, forcibly calming himself down. There wasn't any point in him berating himself now, instead he should be focusing on testing and confirming the abilities he'd been given.

Telekinesis, clairvoyance, water scrying, empathy…

First, he needed to learn how to control the telekinesis. Who knew how many times he had accidentally used it in his sleep without waking up? He couldn't afford to have his abilities noticed by anyone- who knew how they would react? In this world, there was no magical government to Obliviate witnesses and he didn't have a grasp on his abilities or his smaller body, so he wouldn't be able to defend himself properly either.

Harry blinked and sat up as well as he could in the backseat of the car, rubbing the last remnant of sleep from his eyes. The light of the breaking dawn filtered through the dirty windows and Harry judged the time to be around six a.m., which gave him several hours before the library opened at 10 a.m.

He pulled out what he guessed had once been a part of the handbrake from the backside of the front seat and twisted it in his hands. The metal glittered as he put it down onto the seat in between his legs, directly in the beam of morning light. He wasn't sure how to do this, since he had no foci and couldn't feel any energy in his body that could be regarded as some kind of magic.

He stared at the handbrake, willing it to move and feeling quite ridiculous as he did so. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. But he had to start based on what he knew, so…

"Err, Wingardium Leviosa?" he tried, waving his hand vaguely over the brake. Again, there wasn't even a hint of movement. Harry frowned and shook himself visibly. Of course such half-hearted attempts wouldn't work. If he had acted similarly when trying to perform magic, he wouldn't have done better than a squib.

Harry repeated his tries, forcefully, trying to instill his will into the object. Sweat was running down his brow, so great was his focus. For several minutes, nothing happened. Harry stared harder, nearly glaring at the handbrake. His face felt frozen in a marble grimace, with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, and he stayed unmoving for what felt like half an eternity.

When he was about to just give it up for the moment, something finally happened. The brake made small skip, up into the air. Harry involuntary let his concentration go, and stared at it. That was not what he had expected; the small jump reminded him of Luna skipping down the halls of Hogwarts like a weird bunny… honestly, it felt kind of pathetic.

Harry laughed quietly to himself, releasing the tension in his body and face. He was so used to fighting grandly that this felt like he had suddenly crippled himself; which, in reality, he supposed he had. Well, things weren't supposed to be easy, were they? The flames had promised no such thing.

Harry rolled his shoulders, eliciting several cracks from the stiff joints, and narrowed his eyes challengingly at the brake. It glittered mockingly back at him, and Harry smiled grimly. It would be a long few hours, but he was nothing if not a hard worker.

By nine-thirty he had managed to make the brake jump almost a dozen times more, which was both satisfying and disappointing at once. He was almost afraid to go back and go to sleep, but he didn't want to risk his telekinesis going out of control at some inopportune time and hurt someone. Like Christine, who was his only acquaintance/friend in this England.

He trailed his eyes over the same page he had been stuck on for the past half an hour- not seeing the words at all- as he thought. He wasn't sure how to proceed with the amalgamated powers, either. Should he focus on one thing at the time, or try and learn to control all of his abilities at once, a little at the time?

Harry frowned harder, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Maybe he should-

"Hadrian? Are you all right, dear?" Christine's worried voice broke into his conflicted thoughts and Harry tilted his head up to take in her lightly wrinkled face, which was crinkling further as she openly showed her worry. Harry nodded tiredly, too weary to even try and keep up a pretense to ease her worry like he would have done normally.

Christine frowned, turning a chair around and leaning forwards to rest her chin at her elbows as she observed him. Harry wondered briefly what she saw when she looked at him that made the worry shine so clearly in her eyes. Did he look that bad?

"Are you sick, Hadrian?" she leaned forward even further, but made no move to touch him, knowing not to cross the lines Harry had established. He liked her for that, and made an attempt to smile at her. He had a feeling it came out looking more like a grimace though, since Christine's eyes narrowed at him and she wrung her hands.

"I'm fine, Christine. I just had a… hard night…" he smiled wryly at the truth in that statement and the librarian nodded slowly. She didn't look like she believed him and her eyes trailed down his body, as if to locate some other hidden flaw in his carriage. Apparently she didn't find any, since she nodded again, sharply, as if to punctuate his words or her belief in them.

She slid a sandwich across the table, and Harry nodded gratefully. Her sandwiches were nearly as good as Mrs. Weasley's had been, so getting one improved his mood to the point where he could allow himself to slouch a little, actually visibly showing his tiredness.

"Where do you live, Hadrian?" Christine's non-sequitur enquiry was very hesitant and unassuming, but Harry stiffened anyway. He knew she wouldn't push him if he refused to answer, at least not for a while, but he wasn't sure how many times he could avoid that particular question without raising suspicion.

"…Not far from here…" he trailed off, casting a furtive glance at the librarian to see how she reacted. She just looked even more worried, and Harry sighed internally.

"I'm fine, Christine," he repeated and added, "I really did just have a rough night. It happens to everyone." He wasn't sure how convincing he sounded, but spending so much time trying to evade Hermione's probing questions should logically have had some impact on his ability to reassure worried females.

Christine nodded and took a bite from her own sandwich, effectively ending the conversation, to Harry's internal relief. He didn't think this was the end of questions she had on that subject, but for the moment, he had a respite. He wasn't sure what he would say when the time came for her to demand an answer. Perhaps he could simply slip away out of her life and hope she wouldn't be overly concerned... maybe.

Harry sighed quietly around the sandwich. He was still surprisingly sentimental, though if the psychology books he had been plowing through was to be believed, it was common for an isolated person to make unusually strong connections to the few acquaintances they had.

But these worries were, at the moment, secondary to his other problems. He couldn't risk his telekinesis going out of control in anyone else's presence, so he should be trying to find a way to train securely until he was sure he had a grip on what he could and couldn't do with it.

They ate their meal in silence and Christine remained at the table for a few minutes, chatting with him casually, and then she regretfully told him that she had to go back to work.

Harry nodded. "I know. Thank you for the sandwich, ma'am." He bowed a little in her direction and she smiled.

Just before she turned to walk back to the front desk, Harry stopped her and stated that he wouldn't be able to come here tomorrow, since he had something he needed to do. He could almost feel the question on her tongue, but in the end she just nodded and turned on her heel to answer a visitor's call.

Harry spent the rest of the hours until the library's closing time going through books on parapsychology to see if he could find anything that might help him understand his abilities better.

* * *

**A/N:** Not as long as the previous chapter and the ending feels a little abrupt. Hope you enjoyed this anyway. Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter, it motivated me a lot :)

I'm not going to promise anything regarding my updating speed. The next chapter will come when it comes.


	3. The Queen of Cups II

**Chapter 3: Court Card: The Queen of Cups II**

_Denotes, among other things, psychic powers or the growth of a family. The Queen of Cups is the "mom's mom", caring and intuitive about emotional problems and always ready to give a helping hand._

* * *

**June 10th**

Harry put his forehead on the table, giving up trying to read anything more today. His head was pounding like a hippogriff had run him over and he had been trying to conceal a pretty bad limp from Christine, and the forced focus just made his headache even worse.

After three days of very little- other than a few jumps- to show for his efforts, he had finally managed to move the brake several decimeters, with actual control over the motion. The feeling of telekinesis- that he had been trying to capture so he'd know what he should be sensing when he used it- was both like and unlike using magic. Whereas magic had felt like a surge of fiery liquid shooting from his core through his arm and out through his wand, telekinesis felt like a 'flow' of water inside his head, flowing out in no particular direction and affecting the outside world.

The books the library carried on parapsychology hadn't been of much use to him besides the general descriptions of what telekinesis was to the general public. It wasn't that the books were completely wrong, but none of them brought up the subject of how to actually use the ability beyond the vaguest guesses.

Nevertheless, by the fourth of June he had gained enough control to make the handbrake levitate in a manner similar to what the Wingardium Leviosa had been capable of. It hadn't been easy, but he had finally gotten so frustrated with his lack of progress and his ever-growing headaches that he growled at the metallic object. That time was the longest he'd been able to control the telekinesis, and after that he had been progressing at a faster rate than he could have hoped.

It was not without certain setbacks, though. When he had finally been able to keep up constant movement of the brake for an indefinite amount of time, he had moved on to larger objects. He had gathered as much of the flow as he could to try and summon a tyre from several meters ahead of him.

The tyre, instead of sliding along the ground to him -like he had thought it would-, it had come flying at him as if snapped forth by a whip, and Harry had just barely managed to avoid getting hit over the head. Instead, it had clipped his shoulder nastily, causing it to twist badly and pain him for days afterwards.

Since then he had been trying to be careful, but the power would fluctuate strangely, and it took him several more days to realize that the fluctuations were not random, but determined by several factors.

If he was in bad health, the targets would jerkily obey him, but he would tire quickly. If he had nightmares, he would wake to the car shaking like a leaf in a storm. This caused him to choose one of the cars further away from the fence that led to the outside to avoid being discovered. He also made sure there were no loose parts of the car inside that could fly around, because the practice handbrake had almost stabbed him one especially bad night.

If he was angry or frustrated, the targeted objects would overzealously obey him, which could be quite dangerous, since once affected, he couldn't immediately regain control of already-moving objects.

If he tried to move too big or heavy objects- like cars or trucks- the backlash from the flow would cause him to pass out. Harry thought he would probably be able to gradually increase the weight of the objects to control, but it would take time. For now, he was only aiming to test his limits and make sure the flow wouldn't lash out untimely.

Still, he came back more bruised and battered than he would have liked. It wasn't so much that it bothered him, but rather that he had to be so very careful not to show even a hint of pain to Christine. He couldn't explain anything to her anyway, and that would make her worry unnecessarily.

Harry rubbed his eyes, thinking of how to proceed. He had been tapping into his empathic abilities accidentally for the last two days, which was the reason for his returning headaches and wasn't sure what to do about it- how did one turn off a whole new sense?

The empathy was strange and to Harry it felt as if he was 'swallowing' other people's emotions- kind of like when you swallow air, except heavier-and 'digesting' them. He had to force himself not to throw his arms around his midriff to try and stave the feeling. It wasn't exactly painful, but felt uncomfortable and awkward. The emotions came in muddled 'knots' that he couldn't untie completely, and when he did try to unravel them, they'd fade away before he could manage to.

He had noticed that some people had more 'pure' emotions than other, though. Not 'pure' as in 'good', but pure as in singular; Christine had very simple happiness that floated about her like a bright orange cloud, and plain pinkish affection- or perhaps 'fondness'- that showed when she smiled.

It was very odd, 'seeing' color without actually using his eyes. The empathy worked just as well if he had his eyes closed, which enabled him to sometimes sense when someone was drawing near him. It was very similar to how an article that he had stumbled upon yesterday described aura vision, and he had been searching for more tomes about the topic today.

He had found one large volume that looked promising, but with his raging headache he hadn't been able to concentrate properly. '**Anthroposophy; the ethereal body and the aura'** lay discarded to the side, and the papers he had nicked off the printer's slot were empty of notes.

Just as he was about to give up completely for the day, a burst of color exploded behind his closed eyelids. Harry couldn't separate one person's emotions from another- yet- but he was sure that it was Christine who was approaching. She was the only one he knew here who would feel so worried about him.

Harry lifted his head from the table, holding in a groan with difficulty as the light hit his eyes and blinked blearily at the nearing woman. The colors muted and swirled away as suddenly as they had come, just before Christine stopped in front of the table.

She was carrying a cup of something- considering this was England, he guessed it was tea- and put it within reach of his short arms. Nodding, Harry gathered the cup between his palms, letting the warmth envelope his hands. The tea smelled of vanilla and honey and Harry stirred the golden liquid with the tip of his finger.

The light hit the tea and for a second, Harry thought he saw a flash of something in the cup's depths. Frowning, he tipped it from side to side, but the image had disappeared.

"Hadrian."

Harry looked up at Christine's unusually serious tone, cocking his head.

"Yes?"

"Are you all right, Hadrian? And please, don't lie to me." She looked tired, and Harry felt distinctly guilty about worrying her with his random disappearances and evasive excuses to her enquiries.

"…Yes, Christine." He deliberately used her name- something he rarely did, preferring to call her 'ma'am'- hoping to convey his sincerity.

"Hadrian, lately you've been walking around like you're in constant pain- and don't try to deny it- you're always hunched, with your arms around your tummy or your hands covering your head… but Hadrian, _please_- I know you're very smart- but _please_ tell me what's wrong. Let me help you…" She trailed off, blinking rapidly, and Harry realized with some measure of alarm that her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

He opened his mouth to say- he didn't know what he would say, really- but she interrupted him before he managed to make a sound. Her hands were squeezing the cup tightly and instead of trying to capture his gaze like she normally would, she was staring at the table.

"You're very good at hiding it, you know. But I'm pretty good at looking, too. I haven't said anything to anyone, but Hadrian, if you're…. in trouble, I'd like to know. I'd like to help."

Another burst of color erupted in front of his eyes and Harry clasped his hands around his stomach, pained by the intensity of her concern. He didn't know what he had done to deserve this woman's care, because even at the best of days he was quiet and anti-social- though polite, of course- but he had to say something to her. He couldn't ignore her worry any longer. That would be like trampling all over her feelings, and she deserved better.

He still didn't know what to tell her, though.

Carefully, he began, "Even if I was in trouble… what could you do?" his voice came out sounding hopeless rather than rejecting, despite his words.

The librarian blinked, sniffling discreetly as she tried to come up with an answer. "I… don't know. I'm guessing you don't want me to call the social services on you." Harry stiffened involuntarily, and Christine nodded as if confirming a long-standing belief.

"I won't, both because I dislike the system and because I think you know what you're doing. But I need to know what's going on, because if you're in danger… I won't stand by." She nodded firmly, finally looking up into his anxious gaze. It had been a long time since he met someone 'helpful to a fault', but considering her apparent newfound determination to extract an answer from him, he didn't think he'd be able to derail her any longer.

"I escaped and now I'm homeless." He said bluntly and watched detachedly as Christine seemed to swallow her tongue at his unexpected candidness. He had taken a very calculated risk revealing what he did, in that manner. He hoped he had chosen correctly.

She stared at him for several long moments, and Harry nearly drowned in her uncharacteristically muddled emotions. She closed her eyes, exhaling loudly.

"For how long?"

"…A while." She glanced at him unusually sharply, but he resolutely refused to elaborate. She frowned, but nodded, reluctantly accepting his non-answer. Harry took a sip from his cup, keeping his eyes on her all the while.

She blinked at him and stole a look at the largely empty room. Clearing her throat, she spoke; "You need a place to live. Come home with me."

Harry promptly choked on his mouthful of tea, and coughed harshly for a few seconds. Was she serious? This was without a doubt the most impromptu decision he had ever heard anyone make- and considering his past and his own impulsive nature, that was saying quite a lot.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute. Harry wouldn't insult her by asking if she knew what the hell she was doing, since she was very much a grown woman (and the sparks of honesty belied the impulsivity that he had assumed she was operating under). Christine looked unsure and a bit embarrassed, but she had a stubborn tilt to her mouth that reminded him of Ginny in one of her moods, and Harry sat back with his mind spinning in several directions at once.

If he ignored the illegal aspects of her offer, there was still the whole 'telekinesis-possibly-going-out-of-control' angle to consider. He hadn't had any major accidents with his nightmares the past few nights because he was simply too knackered to dream when he fell into bed in the evenings. But he wouldn't be able to practice if she was constantly keeping an eye one him…

Christine interrupted his thoughts, "You'd only stay with me during the nights, you know. Or you could stay in the apartment during the day, when I work…" her hushed voice sounded thoughtful.

That could work, Harry thought. He couldn't believe his luck, honestly. What were the odds of finding someone willing to offer him sanctuary just like that?

His last thought before he met Christine's brown eyes was whether the flames had anything to do with him landing himself where he did, and meeting the impulsive librarian. He wasn't sure what he thought about that, just knowing it felt too… well, _coincidental_ to be a coincidence…

Harry inhaled. "I accept."

Hopefully they could work out the details without too many hitches. And hopefully the police wouldn't ever be made aware of their arrangement. And hopefully Christine wouldn't force him to go to school. And hopefully this wasn't a gigantic mistake…

**July 8th**

Harry looked around his bare room tiredly. The moonlight illuminated the wall, the white light causing the shadows of what little furniture he had- a _futon_, a bookcase and a small corner table- to ripple eerily.

It had been almost a month since he moved into Christine's small apartment, and as Harry had half-expected, it hadn't been as easy as he would have hoped. While during the days, they continued as they had before Harry had come to live with Christine, the nights had been difficult for several reasons.

Christine had shown him to the room he now inhabited- a room that had previously been used as a guest room- and Harry had known immediately that it was too cluttered for him to sleep in safely. There had been small decorative porcelain figurines placed on every surface in sight, which Harry was sure would inevitably be destroyed the first time he had a nightmare.

He had tentatively that he didn't like having so many things in his living space, and Christine had only commented that as long as he was staying in the room, he was free to do with it as he wished. They had packed up everything but the necessities, and though the librarian had looked at him funny, she hadn't asked him anything. He was continually surprised and thankful by how intuitive and accepting she was of him and his quirks. He had been able to feel her curiosity and slight worry as they examined the near-empty room when everything else had been moved out, and wondered what she thought his reasons were.

The bed had remained where it was until about three nights in, when he had finally had one of the anticipated nightmares. He had woken abruptly in the middle of the night, with Bellatrix' laughter ringing in his ears and the bed shaking underneath him, and hadn't been able to calm himself down until he heard Christine's steps nearing. He had bit his hand harshly to ground himself and regained his composure just before Christine opened the room's door.

He hadn't been able to give her a satisfactory answer to her questions about what the noises had been, but she had perched on his bed with that worried expression that she seemed to reserve just for him, and he had told her that he "wasn't quite ordinary"- and in her uniquely Christine way, she had accepted the answer as if it actually explained something about the incident.

She was truly one of a kind, and he was almost starting to suspect that she had some kind of minor intuitive or empathic gifts herself. She could so easily spot when there was something he _couldn't_ talk about versus something he just _didn't want_ to speak of. She rarely let go completely of the latter instances, but almost always of the former. She hadn't asked any explanations about his insistence that they remove the bed to replace it with the old _futon_ Christine had had rolled up in the apartment complex' basement.

He had progressed a lot with both his telekinetic abilities and his empathy during the past month, sneaking away every few days- with Christine's reluctant blessing- to the junkyard to practice. The only times his telekinesis went out of control these days were during his nightmares, but while he still couldn't move cars and the like, he had gained much better over-all control of smaller to medium-sized objects.

His empathy still gave him stomach aches, but it didn't fluctuate as much in intensity when it showed up. So it was less like taking a punch to the gut and more like a persistent clawing from inside his stomach. He had also slowly learnt how to shut the feelings out when they became too heavy to bear, but that only worked when there weren't many people about. Harry shuddered to think of what would happen should he ever get held up in an angry mob. He'd probably pass out and get trampled to a pulp.

The water scrying was giving him no end of trouble at the moment, and was the reason for his current midnight pacing. It was so completely out of control that he couldn't take a bath without accidentally seeing something in the water. He was nearing the point where he tried to avoid looking at any body of water for too long, lest some random image pop up out of nowhere and startle him.

He wasn't even sure what he was actually seeing during his unintentional scrying sessions; the water naturally distorted the images and even when they didn't, he couldn't tell where the pictures came from-past, present or future- or what they were about. Once or twice he thought he had identified something that might have been fire (or a wrinkled orange cloth, or a running orange cat, or a distorted close-up of sunflower petals…), but usually the he couldn't discern much of anything.

It was very distracting. Christine had once caught him unawares when he had jumped backwards after seeing something in the dishwater filling the sink when washing the dishes. It had been rather embarrassing, since he had crashed into the dining table and overturned a vase.

He wasn't at all sure what to do to control the scrying visions. It wasn't something he could actually practice, like he could with the telekinesis or the empathy, since focusing on the water just made the images flash at his eyes without reason. He wasn't sure how to proceed, and for now just avoided looking at any water- or watery liquid- he came across. He couldn't remain like that forever, though. It was inconvenient and annoying.

Harry paced some more, entertaining the thought of using Christine's computer to see if he could find any specialized articles that dealt with control of scrying. After turning the idea over in his head for a moment, he rejected the thought. Call him paranoid, but he didn't want to do implicate himself in a space as open as the internet.

Harry knew people could track others through their internet addresses (courtesy of '**Computers for dummies**', '**Modern technology: Computer programming**' and '**Computer security: Network enumeration**'), but that was the extent of his knowledge on the subject. He only read to understand the basics of muggle technology and what security risks they posed. (Hermione had once claimed he had developed a one-track mind because of the war. Perhaps he had, but Harry blamed Moody for that. )

Harry finished his pacing, realizing that once again he was getting nowhere. He was already a bit of an insomniac thanks to his nightmares- which his eidetic memory seemed to boost, unfortunately- and needed all the sleep he could get. There were two sides two every coin, he knew. Every gift is a curse at some angle.

Harry sighed quietly, walking quietly back to bed. He watched the shadows move ominously across the ceiling, and it took him a very long time to finally fall asleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Next chapter things will start to really move along, and a familiar character will make an appearance.

Thanks for all the motivating review for the last chapter. I'm glad people liked Christine; I wasn't quite expecting that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well, and I'd be very pleased if you'd leave a review to tell me what you thought!


	4. The Moon Card

**Changeling, chapter 4: Major Arcana: The Moon Card**

_The Moon Card is all about **visions** and illusions, madness, **genius** and poetry. This is a card that has to do with **sleep**, and so with both dreams and **nightmares**. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be **hidden enemies**, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and **intuition**._

* * *

Harry woke abruptly, nearly flinging himself from the bed in the throes of his nightmare. He hadn't been dreaming about any specific event, which almost made the dream worse. Vague shifting orange-red-yellow shapes from the nightmare was still spinning in his head, leaving him more unsettled than he usually was after waking up this way.

_Clank._

Harry's head snapped up at the abrupt noise. It sounded almost like a broken bell or a cymbal, and wasn't a sound that fit in the silence of the night. Flames danced across his vision as he made to get up from the bed. His gut instincts had always been rather accurate, and he had a very bad feeling coursing through his body.

This stillness- a stillness that might have seemed normal for a quiet night any other time- was the same kind of stillness that occurred just before a group of Death Eaters burst into the scene, brandishing green-glowing wands and proclaiming their certain failure. It was the kind of hush that draped even an otherwise tumultuous battlefield in muteness, because you realized one of your friends had just fallen to an enemy curse.

With foreboding rising in his throat like bile and his stomach in knots, Harry padded across the floor of his room and very carefully leaned around the door frame and pushed the door open further.

Everything was quiet and bathed in darkness.

Harry crouched on the floor, half-crawling forward like a monkey on his knuckles, hoping to stay undetected. He wasn't feeling anything from his empathy, which was a small reassurance, at least.

The kitchen was dark, the different appliances causing the shadows to multiply across the furniture. The moonlight formed a pattern on the carpet, and as Harry continued his gorilla-like walk through the kitchen, he absurdly realized that it had been a very long time since he had reacted to a possible threatening situation –without any evidence, to boot- like this.

Maybe it was because Christine was his only friend, because she had taken him in, no questions asked. Because she, despite being older than him, had retained some kind of naivety that he hadn't had since even before his Hogwarts days. Because she smiled at him whenever she saw him- with sincerity, even if he couldn't smile back at her- and expected nothing in return.

Or maybe it was because he had thought he was leaving situations like this behind when he walked through the veil.

Or maybe because he had no magic to defend himself with, and he doubted his small body and still-incomplete telekinesis could keep them both from harm should things get violent.

Or maybe his emotions- which, since he got here, didn't seem to keep to the realm of adults as often as Harry would like- and he was seeing this with both his older experienced, composed and mature side and the more infantile, eight-year-old side that his physique had been displaying incorrectly since his world-switch.

Either way, his heart was racing more than he wanted it to be at this moment. Using his skills in Occlumency- which was no longer supplemented with magic, but still useful for calming frayed nerves- Harry managed to get himself under control and direct his attention to his surroundings with his trained Unspeakable intensity and focus.

Christine's bedroom door was in his field of vision and suddenly, without warning, a firework of crimson and black sprouted throughout his sight, seeping into the corners of his mind and causing him to double over in pain, wheezing slightly.

It was rage and greed and something filthy that Harry feared was insanity, unidentifiable in its messiness and saturating the unknown individual whole emotional spectrum with dark spots of dirty indigo and gray. Harry had never- even when possessed by Voldemort- felt so completely disgusted by another presence. Where Voldemort had been insane but intelligent and mostly clear-headed, this persons mind felt as if dipped in grease- slick and oily.

And before Harry had been able to swallow back his disgust, the person was moving towards him, stepping out from the bedroom, a knife of some sort in hand-

-and he was choking, eyes tearing, stomach turning-

Harry barely registered the pain in his left thigh, but with his last strength- gathered by the sudden awareness of what this man must have done in the bedroom, and the absolute anger that revelation wrought on his drowning mind- he accumulated as much of the flow as he could and dispelled it wildly, unintentionally flinging the man out the window behind him.

_CRASH. BOOM. Thump, thump. Crackle. Crunch, crunch, crunch._

Harry strained his ears, holding onto his last shred of consciousness by sheer willpower, and listened to the man's running steps take him further away from the apartment complex. He heard voices calling from the other apartments, and as he succumbed to unconsciousness he could finally hear sirens in the distance.

Roger Ruvie rubbed his tired eyes. He had been staring at the computer screen for six hours straight, temporarily leaving the orphanage in the hands of one of the caretakers- Huan, a capable young woman in her mid thirties- as he kept up his correspondence with the police and checked his mobile phone for new messages.

L had been pursuing an unknown serial killer for the past six weeks and he and Watari had been largely unapproachable by their normal means. It wasn't uncommon for them to go "underground" so to speak, but by God, was it inconvenient!

The police force had been hounding him for information on the progress of the case for the past three days, and L had sent an update yesterday- Roger liked to think it was to appease them, though he doubted the peculiar 20-year-old cared much for their opinion. As the world's greatest detective he could normally afford to ignore the general law enforcement forces wishes, but since this case needed their cooperation to run smoothly, he had been more careful about how many toes he stepped on.

The police hadn't been satisfied with L's report, though. Roger couldn't blame them-despite not having read this particular record-, knowing as he did that L's reports were always slightly strange (usually going off on weird or inappropriate tangents in the middle, including but not limited to: teenage celebrities, foreign currency, desserts and French movie stars).

_Beep, beep._

Roger let out a sigh of relief at the sound, and answered the call within a second. He didn't bother with pleasantries the way he normally would have, but cut straight to the case.

"There's been another attack, this time in Portsmouth."

It was uncomfortable, having a murderer on the loose in their very back yard. He didn't like children in general- they were noisy and made messes everywhere they went, even the supposed genius ones- but he couldn't help worrying about them, either. He didn't want to see them come to harm, no matter how disruptive they were to his everyday life.

"… _I know."_ Of course he did. Roger wasn't surprised at all, really, though he couldn't help the slight annoyance he felt at L's unperturbed tone.

L continued speaking, not noticing or ignoring his silence. _"According to an agent, there is a surviving witness to the murder."_

Roger frowned in confusion. The Red Painter- as the public had so aptly taken to calling him- never left witnesses. He always collected as much information as he possibly could about his victims before committing the heinous acts, and so was never caught unawares.

"A witness?"

"… I am sending Watari to Portsmouth and will be returning to Hampshire myself. Please have my rooms ready."

Roger glared at the phone for a second, wanting to take the renowned detective by the ear for his absolute insolence, but knowing a lot was at stake he merely answered in the affirmative, grinding his teeth when the connection went dead in his ear.

That L was as infuriating as he was intelligent, and Roger couldn't see how Wammy could stand being in the detective's presence at all times. Roger would have been fighting the temptation to strangle the boy on an hourly basis, he was sure.

Shaking his head, he replaced the cell phone in the left side-drawer and steepled his fingers as he thought about how to best formulate his reply to the police. L was apparently already in contact with at least one member on the force, but being an old sort, Roger thought they would appreciate a heads up on Wammy's arrival.

He informed Huan- who came to tell him that the children had all gone to bed for the night- that the two rooms at the end of the first corridor on the top floor was to be cleaned.

She asked no questions, knowing that the top level was for the top Letter and thus secret.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I'm evil.

This chapter is so short because the first POV in the next chapter is too long to put at the end of this one. Also, it throws off the tone of this chapter.

Okay, so I have a few comments to make:

This is not a Super!Harry; Harry's powers will not enable him to up and fix everything with a snap of his fingers. As it is at the moment, he's just barely started to learn how to control them.

For obvious reasons, I can't answer anonymous reviews, but they are just as appreciated as their signed counterparts.

I might end up unintentionally missing a review or two for whatever reason, and if I haven't answered you, just ask again in the next chapter.

I'm Swedish, and I do make more than the occasional error in spelling or grammar. So if you see any mistakes, do feel free to point them out. Likewise with inconsistencies, should they pop up. Please remember that this is an AU, though, and things aren't expected to be as they are in canon.

Next chapter; more familiar faces. Yes, _those_ familiar faces.


	5. The Queen of Swords

**Chapter 5: The Queen of Swords**

_This Queen is a walking encyclopedia. Any information you want, [this one] has it... This Queen can talk science with the scientists, history with the historians, literature with the poets. This one knows obscure facts, strange tid-bits... The Queen of Swords absorbs information, and is able to relate it back succinctly, clearly, simply, so everyone can understand and use it. You can always pick out [this one] in a crowd as [this Queen] is always stylish in her own, unique way; almost eccentric in dress. The problem? This queens can be the most "queen-like." Aloof, even cold. They believe the right facts can fix any problem, and will offer that instead of sympathy or warmth. They also like to know everything, and are likely to listen in on conversations, read diaries. They might well spread what they've learned, thinking it will do good. They mean well, but their need to know and solve problems often outweighs other considerations._

* * *

L nibbled on his thumbnail, simultaneously stacking white sugar cubes in a pile and reading John Lyric's preliminary report on the Red Painter's newest murder- and his first failure.

He removed his thumb from his lower lip and picked up the heavily scribbled on paper between his fingers. Lyric's report wasn't as much a report as it was an account of the ambulance personnel and the investigators impression of the scene. Basically, it was unreliable and scattered at best.

The witness from the crime scene was said to be a young boy, currently being treated at the hospital with deep lacerations to his thighs. The boy had woken up- despite suffering major blood-loss- in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and according to 'nurse, about 30 years of age' he had firmly refused any treatment beyond the basics.

They had managed to suture and bind the boy's wounds, but he hadn't accepted anything more. According to the nurse, he wasn't hysterical enough to warrant non-consented sedatives and since he stoically refused to give out any contact information, they couldn't retrieve his parents' permission.

In L's opinion, it was a rather well-thought out –if simple and quite incomprehensible- strategy for such a young child, if he actually understood the consequences of his refusal of treatment. Not giving out contact information meant they couldn't force any treatment on him.

But why would the boy refuse treatment in the first place? If the child had been hysterical or in shock, it would have made sense, since the more primal 'fight or flight' responses would be guiding his actions, but if that wasn't the case…

L turned on the laptop in front of him and unfolded it. He popped a sugar cube into his mouth, relishing in the melting sweetness on his tongue. The screen beeped, a square with a gothic 'W' flicking up on the display.

"L, I've arrived at the hospital."

"Good. Do you have the boy's room number?"

"Yes, 23D. Should I ask the police officials to leave us alone?"

L bit down on the still unmelted part of the cube thoughtfully. The police would surely demand that L turn over whatever information they got from the boy to them anyway, so he might as well let them in on it now. He could always conduct supplementary interviews later, should it become necessary.

"No, it's fine."

L dropped several more sugar cubes into his cooling coffee, slowly turning the dark liquid white-hazy and thick. He picked up a small spoon between his thumb and index finger and scooped up a bit of the sweet conglomeration as he waited for Wammy to reach the room.

He had just stuck the spoon between his lips, savoring the taste, when the screen beeped again. L turned up the volume and heard the click of a closing door and then a soft thump when Wammy placed the laptop on a table.

L licked his fingers and then tapped a quick command on the keyboard to start the video feed. The display flashed white with static and then cleared to show a white hospital room. Wammy must have placed the laptop somewhere in the middle of the room, since the bed with a white lump of sheets- indubitably concealing the boy- was a fair distance away from the camera.

Along one wall stood a sandy haired police officer and a woman with her hair in a tight bun, looking official. The probability of her being either a social worker or with the hospital board was 83 %, and when she dug into her bag and brought up a clipboard and a ballpoint pen, the percentage of her being from the social services rose to 89. He'd expected her presence, of course.

L turned his attention to the lump once more.

"Hello, child." Wammy greeted the lump softly, receiving no response but a slight shifting of the piled sheets.

"We wanted to ask you some questions about the incident this previous night, if you feel up to it?"

L frowned a little as he bit down on his thumb. They needed information whether the boy 'felt up to it' or not. But he knew they couldn't pressure him; he had taken many courses in psychology for his work, and children especially were always notoriously difficult to question. You had to be very careful to make sure they didn't feel pressured to answer, since that could make them liable to lie or confuse reality with imagination.

The sheets moved again, and L gave the screen his full attention. It would be much easier to question the boy if he was fully visible, since he's be able to discern minute twitches in the boy's facial expressions or tone of voice, which would help him to lead the questioning in the right direction.

A mop of black hair appeared atop the nestle of bedcovers. The covers separated further, revealing a thin, pale face with large green eyes. Underneath the boy's eyes were dark smudges, suggesting a prolonged period with too little sleep. It was uncommon to see in children, and L pondered on what it might mean. Well, since he was working without the slightest piece of intelligence on the boy, he needed to question his way from the bottom up.

"On the other side of the computer is the detective in charge of the case; L." Wammy continued, after a brief pause at the boy's showing.

L saw a flash of recognition in the green eyes. He wasn't surprised that the boy would know of him; from what he heard from agents on the outside, he was featured in books all over the world and even cited by school teachers during career day and similar occasions. What surprised L, however, was the lack of any other movement in the boy's visage. His expression didn't move in the slightest, remaining a still mask of neutrality.

It was strange. Children were usually constantly in motion, fiddling with their hands, squirming in their place or grimacing purposelessly. L leaned forwards, planting a strawberry caramel on his tongue, and zoomed in on the boy's face.

The near colorless features came into sharp focus- the boy was unhealthily pale, almost sallow, though that could be explained by the circumstances. It he had seen Christine Jensen's murder, he was likely in shock, …though despite this being the most probable cause of the boy's pallor, there was something prickling in the back of the detective's mind, wanting to disprove the most obvious explanation.

He didn't have the dashed-gray washed out visage of someone suffering from shock. And neither did he have the glazed look in his eyes that L would have expected from someone in shock.

L bit down on the caramel, the ensuing crunch tearing through the silence of the room like a gunshot. Something was going on behind the scenes, something he couldn't see yet…

"Could you tell me your name?"

The boy's eyes shifted up and to the side, presumably centering on Wammy. Not that he'd be able to see much of the man, with the large hat that covered most of his face during public outings. The sight probably wasn't the most trust-inspiring, but keeping his liaison's identity's esoteric was of utmost importance.

L zoomed out enough to be able to see the boy's whole- if hidden- body, scrutinizing him carefully for any telling movements. With the sheets still covering him up to the neck, it was frustratingly impossible to see much of anything. He'd be unlikely to catch any smaller movements, and those smaller movements were the ones that needed noticing.

He zoomed back in, deciding to concentrate on the parts he could see for the moment.

"…Hadrian, sir."

Polite. He hadn't been expecting that- because he'd been judging based on other scenes of this kind, and not the boy individually. He'd have to rectify that.

The boy's voice was quiet, bordering on being nothing but a slight exhale. It reminded him a bit of one of his heirs, and he silently congratulated himself for having Matt install such strong microphone speakers into the computer. He doubted he'd have heard him otherwise.

Hadrian hadn't given a surname, which could mean a multitude of different things. L bit down on his thumb again, chewing on the soft flesh lightly as he thought. Distrust, deeming it unimportant, simply forgetting to mention it…

"Hadrian, is it?"

By repeating the boy's first name, Wammy was subtly trying to gain his surname. L didn't think it had a probability of working over 22 percent, but approved of the approach nevertheless.

As he presupposed, Hadrian only nodded.

L tapped in another commando on the keyboard, pressed a button to the side of the computer and spoke into a shafted microphone previously buried underneath a pile of small, heart-shaped cookies.

"Ask him why he refused treatment." He told Wammy softly, knowing he would be heard through the tiny communication device in the elderly man's ear.

"Why have you refused treatment, Hadrian?"

L watched the boy twitch slightly, burrowing down in the covers like a mole. Hadrian pursed his lips, green eyes turning to stare at the wall. He then sighed quietly- a very adult expression on a very young face- and mumbled,

"Just because they've been tasked with my care doesn't mean I should trust them."

L could feel his eyebrows rise. Again, he hadn't expected that, though he hadn't expected the typical "It hurts" or "they're mean" responses, either.

So, trust issues- with adults or people in authority? Or was it in reaction to Christine Jensen's murder? That question in turn led to another question;

What had his relationship with Christine Jensen been? In the files containing her personal information she had been listed as a single woman without family; her adoptive parents had died almost a decade ago, she had no close male friends and only traveled outside Hampshire annually to visit a close-by cemetary.

It was a mystery, and L gave an 87 percent probability rate it was the same mystery that had led to the Red Painter leaving a witness alive. Hadrian had been unexpected, and thusly not been taken into the criminal's usually flawless calculations.

That did not explain why Hadrian was left alive, however. Jensen's neighbors had only called the police because they 'heard a window break and saw an unidentified, suspicious-looking person running from the apartment complex'.

L munched on one of the heart-shaped cookies, rubbing his cold feet against each other. They had a two week respite before the Red Painter would strike again if he continued his killing spree according to the previously established pattern, and before then L would need to solve this case.

"I suppose that's true. You're a smart boy, Hadrian," he heard Wammy answer, chuckling deeply.

"Intelligence does not factor into the equation, Sir." Hadrian said quietly, bringing the sheets up around his chin so that his voice was nearly muffled by the cloth. L stopped his chewing for a moment, evaluating the answer. It was not an answer he would have expected from a young boy- well, unless the boy had been one of Wammy's House's geniuses.

How interesting. Was this boy a genius, then, perhaps? It would explain the restrained reactions; several of the children in the orphanage were very restrained – or simply incapable- of showing their emotions. A small white-haired teen was a primary example of this.

Still, it was a bit too early to call that thesis factual. He'd have to wait and observe the child for a while longer- the probability of him being a genius- or at least above average in intelligence- was only 26 %, currently. But L knew he had good instincts, and his gut feeling was telling him that it was at the very least plausible.

"Perhaps not-" Wammy sounded thoughtful; probably pondering the same thoughts L was entertaining. "- but surely you need to have your injuries treated sometime?"

"They have already examined and sutured the lacerations to my thighs,-" -the percentage rose from 26 % to 29 %-"-and those were the only injuries he caused me."

L quickly pressed the button and spoke into the microphone, telling Wammy to turn on the speakers. Hadrian had obviously seen the attacker if he without hesitation could tell his gender. L had known they were dealing with a man since he first got involved in the case- but it wasn't common knowledge. With the perpetrators careful modus operandi, it could have been a woman as well, despite the overwhelming majority of serial killings being committed by men.

The computer-screen buzzed to life, and L took the microphone between his thumb and finger.

"Hadrian, I'm L." He introduced himself flatly, in that one short sentence letting the boy know that he had been listening to the conversation. He had a feeling Hadrian would pick up on it, as well.

The boy nodded, as expected, looking unsurprised.

"Could you describe the assailant?" He cut right to the chase, wanting to get the major issues into the open before he began dancing around the 'how's' and 'why's'.

The eyes flashed, growing intense as the boy thought back. L had a feeling he'd be getting a very factual description of the criminal, unbridled with the normal childish embellishments.

"…Tall- approximately 5'9. Blond and semi-muscular, with light eyes. Dressed in a suit of some kind. Good with his weapon of choice; a quality-made shiv or possibly a custom trench, with a lightly serrated edge. Powerful physique, able to take a high fall and still land correctly enough to retain his mobility…"

L's eyebrows were climbing up higher the longer the boy spoke, his eyes taking on a wide-eyed look of concentration. That was not a simple retelling of the perpetrator, it was bordering on a report- and a relatively eloquent one as well. He was sure that the police officer is writing down every word of the boy's response.

L took a sip from his sugar-infested coffee, never taking his eyes off the screen. The percentage of this boy being a genius of some kind had just risen by almost 54 %. The attention to details that would slip most people by- especially in such a high-pressure situation- spoke of a good memory and a cool head and the choices of words were a lot more mature than he would have expected from boys even twice his age.

Which was strange. Even naturally composed or highly intelligent children could be expected to react with fear or panic when confronted by such a situation. This reaction wasn't normal, no matter how he looked at it.

…Also, how many children knew what a shiv was? Usually criminals were the only ones to ever use that word, as it was the most common weapon in prisons… perhaps Hadrian had a criminal family member or older friend…?

"I see. Thank you, that information will be useful." L said factually, his scrambled monotonous voice revealing nothing of his racing thoughts, and watched as Hadrian nodded and brought the bedcovers up over his nose so that only his eyes could be seen over the cloth.

"What was your relationship with Christine Jensen, Hadrian?" he continued after a beat of silence.

The boy reacted in the most interesting manner; instead of fidgeting like most were prone to do when put on the spot, he stilled. It looked almost as if he was pulling into himself, so still he went.

L nibbled on his lip. It wasn't unusual to try to make oneself as small as possible when confronted with an uncomfortable subject, to appear unassuming so as to evade the situation. It was an instinctual reaction and not purposeful manipulation, but L doubted that the boy was going still like this for any typically childish reason.

"…She was a friend…" the boy finally answered, clamping his lips shut and refusing to elaborate. L cracked a gingerbread cookie between his fingers, staring avidly at what little of the boy's expression was visible. There was something there… he was onto something right here…

"A friend? Christine Jensen was 42 years old, and you claim to be nine… A 33 year long age gap, in other words," he mused aloud, watching intently as the boy seemed to stiffen even further, his expression closing off. L frowned a little- having the boy close off from him was not good. He couldn't have that, so he switched tracks quickly, speeding through other lines of queries in his head. He'd have to work around the question, approaching it from the side…

"Ms. Jensen worked in the Lexian library, did she not?" Hadrian nodded slowly, looking wary, and L knew he was correct to pull away so fast. This boy was unusually cautious, so he'd have to be very careful not to push him too far.

"And was that where you met her?" Hadrian visibly hesitated, eyes flashing with circumspection, and L could feel intrigue rising in his chest. What was the boy so nervous about?

"… … … Yes." Again, he didn't elaborate at all, but L had anticipated that.

"And you eventually befriended her?"

A longer pause, where Hadrian's eyes turned inward, before he murmured, "Yes."

"I see. Did you have a lot in common?" Hadrian shook his head laconically and L continued,

"Why did you enjoy each other's company, then?" The boy looked a little confused and slightly suspicious, and his eyes darted to the left succinctly. L realized he was probably observing the social worker lady and wondered if he should tell Wammy to ask her to step out. If she was the one making the boy so high-strung, it might ease the conversation along if he had her removed. But then, it might also make the boy even more suspicious.

"She was …cordial and she always took the time to speak with me, even during busy days."

It sounded simple, but felt deeper than that. L bit his thumb in nominal frustration. This was why he hated interviewing children; he couldn't push as much as he wanted to and he couldn't demand full cooperation.

He took another sip of his coffee, frowning when he realized it had cooled.

Surprisingly, Hadrian continued unprompted, "…she would give me sandwiches or apples to eat, and she even ordered a few books I requested from the Lingua et Lingua library in London…" he trailed off quietly, looking down. L could see his shoulders sag underneath the piled beddings.

"What books did you request?" L asked softly. He wasn't good at comforting people, but he was trying to be gentle even as he switched subjects abruptly. Hadrian looked up, and his eyes had gone dull and bland. Perhaps he should start wrapping this up for the day, before the boy broke down. But he didn't want to lose his access to Hadrian, both because he was a material witness still withholding information and because there were too many pieces missing in the puzzle that was Hadrian and Christine Jensen's relationship, pieces that he needed.

…Perhaps…

A plan started forming in L's mind, but it was a plan that required some very specific circumstances- which first needed to be confirmed- and Hadrian's cooperation, to work.

"…'**Historia Anglorum'**, by Henry of Huntingdon and '**The Rosetta Stone'**, by Briton Thomas Young." Hadrian answered, sounding weary. L was again surprised- the second text was very advanced and he hadn't even heard of the first one. By its title it sounded Latin, or possibly Old English, in origin. Could this boy read it in its original form? If that was the case, his plan had to work, because then he definitely wanted the boy to remain within his reach.

"Is that so? I do remember reading '**The Rosetta Stone'** and finding it riveting, but I don't believe I've heard of the first one you mentioned."

Hadrian nodded. "It's pretty obscure." He was still tightlipped, but that just made L more curious and stubborn.

"What do your parents think of your reading material?" And here was the root of his hastily constructed plan. Everything depended on Hadrian's answer to this question.

"…I don't have parents." The boy muttered, confirming L's- unfounded- suspicions and enabling him to set his plan in motion.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Hadrian." L spoke gently, recognizing the boy's loss even if he couldn't quite sympathize with it. He continued quickly, keeping his voice level, "Would I be correct in assuming that you do not have a place to stay in currently?"

Hadrian's head snapped up imperceptibly and his eyes widened. He already had an idea of what L was going to offer him. L smiled into his coffee, reveling in this new mystery. Who was this boy?

When Hadrian finally nodded, L continued; "Watari could find you a temporary home, should you wish it." Though if the boy did decide to accept his invitation to Wammy's House, he'd end up staying with almost 80 % surety, especially if he entered the 'race' for the Letters.

Hadrian's eyes narrowed, flashing with shrewdness that L was itching to test. His eyes slid over to Wammy, thoughtful but very cautious still. L approved; had the boy accepted without thought, L would have been disappointed by his impulsiveness.

Finally, after several minutes, the light of speeding thoughts faded from Hadrian's eyes. L bit down on yet another sugar cube, almost a hundred percent sure that he knew what the boy's answer would be.

Hadrian nodded, and L smiled.

* * *

**A/N:** Right, the POV you'd all been waiting for, I bet.

Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter; they motivate me greatly. I feel I should make an official apology for killing Christine, since quite a lot of people commented on her death. Sorry for killing her off!

Oh, and please remember that this is an **AU** - it says so quite clearly in the first chapter.

Tell me what you thought, and don't hesitate to point out mistakes! :)


	6. The Four of Swords

**Changeling, chapter 6: Four of Swords**

_This is the "meditation" card. The card advises the Querent that they **need to get away, rest, recuperate.** The card indicates that the Querent has been facing **mental or emotional stress**, arguments, misunderstandings or verbal abuse, or that they're ill or injured. A healing retreat is needed, time to **clear the head, heart and soul**, or just fix a **damaged body**._

* * *

**July 13th**

Harry signed the last of the papers with a flourish, surprised and not a little suspicious that they would accept an incomplete signature for official documents. He rechecked all the papers once more to make sure that everything was in order, but he was only superficially focusing on the text. The rest of his mind was spinning with questions and second-guesses.

He had reviewed his internal 'open options' box and found it distressingly empty- he was all but cornered, since there was no way they'd let a primary witness disappear on them. They'd at the very least want to turn him over to his (non-existing) parents and they'd probably demand his contact information as well. He'd been fretting over what to do, how to escape the well-meaning social service people that had come to talk to him, but no matter how hard he thought, he'd come up with nothing concrete and doable.

So he'd accepted the mysterious computerized detective's sudden invitation to find him a place to stay, second-guessing himself several times after making the decision. The two things that in the end had swayed him were the Watari man's obvious sincerity and honest worry about him (though that didn't say much about L himself, which kind of negated the point), and the fact that L- whatever he meant with his offer- was the one hunting down the so called "Red Painter", who had killed his only friend in the world.

Harry doubted that this L person would let him have anything to do with the case, but he still- perhaps irrationally- wanted to get as close to the detective as possible. Maybe he could force an information exchange; he still hadn't told L everything he remembered from that night, after all. He wanted to know what leads they had on the Red Painter.

He stared at the ball-point pen as he thought, absently missing his quill and wondering if it'd be possible to get one here. Muggles hadn't used quills for a century or so, but maybe…

He drifted off in a daze, flashes of the previous night creeping up on him against his will. With his head full of blood and memories of older deaths, he organized the papers carefully, with the mechanical ease that only came from complete mental absence from the here and now.

"Hadrian?"

Harry's head snapped up and he only just managed to hide his start at the abrupt cease in silence. He had a feeling he hadn't fooled the concealed man though, if his bubbling emotions were any indication.

Harry nodded in greeting, pushing off the bed carefully to test his stitches. The nurses had done a good job, because while they felt tight and slightly painful, it wasn't so bad. Though his perception of pain was probably a bit on the twisted side.

"Are you ready to go?" Watari asked after checking through the paperwork, holding out a gloved hand to gesticulate at the door behind him. Harry nodded once more, though he wasn't sure he was being truthful. Was he ready? …Did it even matter if he wasn't?

They walked in silence out the hospital doors and Harry was for some reason surprised at the sunny weather that greeted them outside. It didn't seem fitting today of all days. The sunshine was too bright, and Harry looked down, catching sight of his at his pale arm- so pale it was all but luminescent in the light- to shield his eyes. He still had to blink dancing spots from his vision as they stepped briskly towards the parking lot.

He was clad in new clothes and shoes, courtesy of Watari. The clothes were neither too simple or to elaborate, and Harry was surprised and a bit unsettled to find that they fit as if tailored for him. The dark blue jeans and the dark blue shirt fell in his taste, too. It was the kind of understated clothing that made sure you didn't stand out in a crowd, the kind he might even have chosen himself. The thought just unsettled him further.

Watari stopped by his side, and Harry looked up from his inspection of the shirt to find them standing by an expensive-looking car. A Mercedes, Harry guessed, though he knew next to nothing about cars. It was in perfect condition and shone under the sunlight.

Watari opened and held out the backseat door for him and Harry stepped forward tentatively to climb inside. It smelled of fresh leather, and he almost didn't want to touch anything, afraid he might dirty the interior somehow. It was a bit of an ingrained reaction from his childhood- well, _first_ childhood, at the Dursley's.

The door slammed shut around him and Harry burrowed down into the seats as much as possible, feeling apprehensive. The strip of mirror separating the backseat from the front, reflecting his almost expressionless face, only made him uncomfortable. It reminded him too much of how little he- a young child- would have to say about anything. How little freedom he had now that Christine was gone.

_Christine_.

Harry didn't cry; he hadn't cried since Sirius died, because crying didn't help. Harry didn't cry. He didn't. But maybe he gripped the edge of the seat a bit too hard to be merely holding onto it. And maybe he bit his cheek hard enough to bleed, causing his mouth to well with the taste of rust and salt. But he didn't cry.

The expression of the boy in the mirror didn't change… unless you looked very closely.

* * *

Matt glared down at the three-headed monster on the small screen balefully. For the third time in a row it had managed to kill him! It was humiliating, and with a growl he threw the Gameboy onto the couch opposite him. It bounced down to the floor mockingly, and Matt shot it another spiteful look before snaking his hands down his tight pant-pockets to retrieve his packet of cigarettes. This called for nicotine.

He looked over at the wall he was facing, rolling his eyes as he heard Mello's curse-woven ranting clear through, which only paused as something was thrown at the wall from the other side. From the sound, Matt would guess the blond was throwing either books or his lunchbox.

Matt considered braving the lion's den and maybe ask what was going on, but since he was pretty sure it would only lead to another rant about Near, he sat back. He'd wait his friend out and then go feed him some chocolate when he'd calmed down enough not to bite Matt's head off just to vent.

The sixteen-year-old had a notoriously bad temper, known and feared by everyone in the orphanage.

Matt often reflected over why Mello couldn't have gotten a name more suitable to his disposition, and wondered if L's twisted humor had something to do with it. If the reclusive detective even had humor… now that Matt thought about it, he would be hard pressed to remember L ever making a joke-

His cell started vibrating and Matt slid down further in his seat as he tried to grasp it from his pocket. His cigarette remained unlit between his lips, and he pulled it out after flicking the phone open.

"The tech-god speaking, how can I help you?"

L's voice- his normal voice, not that ugly old-fashioned machine-scrambled one- reached his ear immediately, and Matt straightened. L never made unnecessary calls, so this must be important.

"_Matt. I want you to greet a new member of Wammy's House in ten minutes."_

Matt's eyebrows rose a little over his goggles. The orphanage currently only housed around 25 kids- from ages 6 up to 18-, and the few new kids who turned up about two times a year or less usually did so either just after the school start in August or after the winter hols.

"Okay, cool. Anything else?" Matt asked curiously, wanting more information on the sudden arrival.

"…_He's the only witness to a brutal crime…"_

To a normal person that sentence sounded like nothing more than a sympathetic thought, but to Matt, who had studied both psychology and communication for five years, that was L cautioning him about watching his behavior around this kid.

"Okay, I hear you. How old is the kid?"

"_Nine, he claims."_

Matt frowned a little, fiddling with his goggles as he stretched over the couch. "You don't believe him?"

"…_he is very small for a nine-year-old."_ L non-answered monotonously. Matt grinned a little, wondering how a less-than-nine-years-old kid managed to keep his age hidden so well even L didn't know the truth. Well, maybe L hadn't researched him yet. Which brought him to his last question;

"His name?"

"…_Hadrian."_ Matt couldn't help chuckling a little at L's almost perturbed tone. It was hard to investigate a kid who didn't even give you a full name to work with. But L might appreciate the small challenge, no matter that he would probably have_ Hadrian's_ last name within a few hours at most. He wasn't the best detective in the world for nothing.

"I got you. Ciao." He snapped the phone shut, swinging his legs over the couch and jumping over the table- snatching up his Gameboy as he went- and rushed out the door. He took the two stairs in four steps each, flinging himself around the end of the rail and landing easily.

Matt hummed, reaching for the doorknob with his unoccupied hand, deciding to wait on the steps just outside the outer door. He sat himself down languidly beside the door, leaning against the wall and enjoying the warmth the sunlight gave. The world through his tinted goggles was all orange.

It took almost five minutes for the tell-tale sign of an approaching car to reach his ears. The hum of the engine was intimately familiar to Matt, since he had been the one to tweak it, at L's request. The Mercedes was as fast as any racing car and equipped with an abundance of technology and extra security measures. It was one of his best works.

Wammy stepped out, still clad in his "Watari costume", but lacking the hat and Matt put up a hand in greeting. Wammy nodded, smiling and he pushed off his seat to walk closer. Wammy was walking around the side to open the backdoors so Matt went to lean on the hood of the car.

The door opened behind him and he heard an unfamiliar childlike voice thank the old man. Matt turned around, leaning forwards slowly so as to appear in the kid's view without startling him. He didn't know just how careful L wanted him to be, but he'd see that for himself soon enough.

Two big jade-colored eyes set in a pale face blinked up at him, looking surprised. Matt smiled casually, noting how thin the boy was and how he was almost curled around himself. One arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach, a typical protective gesture.

"Hey, I'm Matt. You're Hadrian, right? L told me to come pick you up, and I'll probably be your guide today." He kept his voice light and his stance unguarded, trying to set the boy at ease.

Hadrian nodded, looking a little confused. "Ah, um, thanks. Sorry to trouble you." His voice was almost a whisper, and he looked like he felt out of his depth by miles and miles. Perhaps he was yet another reclusive little genius like Near or a number of the other kids here. Not that Matt didn't know how to handle that, of course. He had befriended several of the more anti-social brats growing up.

He was a little surprised by how polite Hadrian was, though. But then, spending time with Mello and working with Near and L, who were all blunt to a fault, his perception of politeness was probably more than a little screwed up.

"It's no trouble. I've broken in several of the kids here." Hadrian looked a little unsettled, though Matt couldn't pinpoint why exactly, until the boy edged a question;

"…Broken in?"

Matt glanced down at him as he picked up one of the bags Wammy had unloaded. "Shown the ropes, you know?" this question was a bit of a test; if Hadrian didn't understand the slang, he probably wasn't very social.

But Hadrian nodded understandingly, and a stiffness Matt hadn't even noticed disappeared from his shoulders. Matt raised an eyebrow, interested in how good the boy was at hiding his emotions- if he hadn't been so good at reading facial movements he probably wouldn't have noticed most of Hadrian's shifting expressions and changes in stance besides the obvious ones.

Hadrian lifted one of the smaller bags Wammy had put on the ground, preparing to carry it, despite it not belonging to him. He really was polite, Matt thought with some surprised amusement.

They walked up the steps to the orphanage and Matt held up the door for the two others. They both thanked him and entered.

Matt kicked the door shut behind them and watched as Hadrian's eyes swept the surroundings. He looked cautious, and Matt wondered what kind of crime he had seen to make him so, or if he'd been like this even before that. Neither option sat very well with him, and he tugged at his goggles in annoyance at his lack of information.

Wammy told them that he was going to go unpack and unnecessarily reminded Matt to take Hadrian to lunch in an hour or so. Matt rolled his eyes at Wammy's parental tone, tempted to remind the old man that he was fifteen, not five.

"So, Hadrian, how much do you know about Wammy's House?" He asked once the old man had disappeared into the second room to the left. The room directly to the next was Roger's, and across his room- to the right of the outer door- was the kitchen. After the kitchen was the TV room, and next to that were two double-dorms for four of the younger children.

Across their rooms were three dorms in one row, and two dorms and a very large closet opposite of those. Matt would show Hadrian this later, probably after lunch.

The boy frowned before answering, still in a whispery tone; "Nothing. L just asked if I wanted Watari to find me a place to stay. After I accepted, Watari explained that his name was actually Wammy and that he owned an intern school-like orphanage, where if I wanted to, I could come and live at."

Well, security was paramount, so Matt understood why they had told him so little, but he was still a little peeved that he'd once again have to explain _everything_ to yet another new kid. Really, one would think they could have recorded a speech or something to play for the arrivals.

Perhaps he could set up something like that- with L's permission- to have as a standard for whenever it was needed. But the human interaction might have been the reason L hadn't already done something like that… To make it less uncomfortable for the kids. It was hard to know, with L.

"Wammy's House is only one in a series of orphanages owned by Quillish Wammy around the world, but this orphanage is specifically for the gifted. A lot of different classes are offered, though you have to take aptitude tests so the teachers will know what level you're at- Oh! And the teachers are all handpicked by Wammy or Roger, and most of them are the crème de la crème in their subjects.

The orphanage has two aims for the kids who grow up here- either become the next L, or be at the top in their chosen fields, like the teachers are. Some of the teachers who work here are alumni as well, pitching in to help out and working long distance from here.

Currently the orphanage holds 25 residents from ages six to 18 and 11 of those are in the running towards becoming the next L. I'm one of them- well, kinda- because to be one of the 11- one of the 'Letters'- your grades have to be the best in the subjects you need to take to become L. I'm number 3- or 'E'- but I wasn't really trying to get into the Letters… It just sort of happened, since I took those classes, and turned out to be pretty good at them. I'm more for programming and hacking, honestly."

He grinned down at Hadrian toothily, and the boy blinked and smiled a little. Matt made a victory sign inwardly- he got a smile, as small as it was, out of the boy. That was a step in the right direction, and one he hadn't expected to make for quite some time yet.

"How many teachers are there?" Hadrian asked quietly, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Matt frowned at the abrupt change in expression, wondering what prompted it. '_Maybe he doesn't like adults'_, Matt considered, wondering if it had something to do with the "brutal crime" that L mentioned.

"Well, there are different classes in attendance at different days, so the teachers come and go. I'd guess there are a little less than ten teachers always in the House." Matt scratched his cheek thoughtfully; periodically glancing backwards to make sure Hadrian wasn't having any trouble following him up the stairs.

He added, "-and then there is the cook down in the kitchen, the librarian, five caretakers, Roger and Wammy… though he's away a lot of the time with L."

"What do the caretakers do?" Hadrian's voice sounded behind him. They had reached the second floor, which contained five single dorms and one double-dorm. Straight ahead from the stairs, next to one of the caretaker's rooms, were Xander, Yoshio and Zachary's dorms- or X, Y and Z, as they were also known- and last in the row, at the corner, was another caretaker's room.

"Everything, basically. They're jacks of all trades; they take care of all kids here- which is a full-time job by itself-, clean, go shopping, arrange trips etc." Hadrian nodded understandingly.

"These two rooms-" he pointed to the rooms annexing the last Letters dorms, "belongs to Huan Chi and Anna Anderson. Huan is great for when you want to sneak in candy or go buy video games and Anna mostly takes care of the youngest; the ones in the double-dorms opposite the stairs on the first floor. Douglas and Damien are both six and Cassandra and Kit are six and seven, respectively. The first three are real handfuls, I swear."

Hadrian tilted his head to the side, looking curious and Matt waited for him to ask why. He didn't though, instead tilting his head down to look at the floor, and Matt sighed inwardly. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day…

"Here-" Matt continued, passing Celine and Oscar's doors –"is Augusta's room. She's one scary lady, and very strict. …And this right here, is the library, the shower room and the bathroom-" he pointed to the three rooms in turn and glanced back at Hadrian. Said boy's eyes had gone wide, and his already pale face was almost ashen.

Alarmed, Matt stepped towards him, but then stopped when he noticed the boy's rather pronounced flinch. Frowning, Matt deliberately relaxed his body and then slowly crouched down to Hadrian's eye level.

"Hadrian? What's wrong?" He asked softly, pitching his voice low and light to try to put the boy at ease. He noticed Hadrian's arm was wrapped tighter around his stomach than before, and wondered what it was that made him feel like he had to protect himself right now.

Several minutes passed in silence only broken by their breathing, but finally Hadrian looked up, though he wouldn't meet Matt's eyes. That was a pretty bad sign, in Matt's opinion.

"You have to shower together?" the boy asked quietly. Matt's thoughts raced, but though the question was quite telling, he couldn't say what it told exactly. Not anything good, at any rate.

"There are shower stalls, with curtains." Matt answered carefully, hoping that would calm Hadrian down. Several expressions flashed in the large green eyes, but his body was relaxing just a bit, to Matt's relief.

That didn't mean he was reassured, though, he just doubted that Hadrian would be open with him at this point. They had only just met, after all. But he'd have to tell both L and Wammy- and probably Roger, too- about the boy's strange reaction and hope that they knew what was going on, or at least how to proceed.

They walked up the stairs to the third floor in silence, and Hadrian looked to be in deep thought, his arm still curled around his stomach. When they reached the top of the stairs Matt pointed out the elevator on the left side, and that Augusta was very strict about how to ride in it.

"No 'joy-riding' and no over-packing, or she'll-" he almost said 'have your hide', but at the last moment changed his mind "-get really pissy with you." Hadrian threw him an odd glance, but nodded.

"Right. So, this here is my room-" he pointed to the second door on the left, to the right of Mello's "-that one is my best friend's room, and that one is unoccupied. The last two are Linda's –she the Letter I- and caretaker Eric's."

Matt turned and pointed to a room shaped – ironically - like an L, with the end jutting out in the middle of the room. It had two doors on different sides. "This is the computer classroom. Most classes where the students need more than one computer are held here."

"More than one?" Hadrian ventured, frowning.

"Yeah, all students have laptops in their dorms. Real handy." Matt grinned. He'd loved that piece of information when he'd first gotten here.

"Which reminds me; be careful with your laptop, if you crash it badly enough for it to be irreparable, you'll have to dish the money for a replacement out yourself." Mello had done that once, and bitched about having to buy one with what little savings he had, since Matt hadn't been able to fix it.

Hadrian looked up, frowning even further. "…I don't have any money." Matt blinked, surprised.

"Oh, sorry, I should have explained before; we get a monthly allowance of around 50 pounds. It's for 'extravagances' like my games or Yoshio's cigarettes. We get clothes, food and other necessities from the orphanage." Hadrian seemed surprised at the information, and Matt couldn't blame him. Not what you'd expect from an orphanage, that was for sure. But well, generally the House got the money back later- usually in the form of free services or donations by the alumni.

Matt continued, "These four are all classrooms, and the two on the end is a bathroom and another dorm room." He pointed to the doors along the right wall and the corner.

"Okay, only one floor to go!" He stated, clenching his fingers around his Gameboy, eager to get back to slaughtering monsters. Hadrian followed him up the last stairs, also looking a bit relieved that there wasn't much left to see. They had been at it for almost an hour, so Matt really didn't blame the kid.

"All of these rooms are dorms, except the first." Matt explained, pointing to the three jutting rows of rooms, sided by two corridors. He spun around to face the other side and continued, "This is caretaker Darien's room, a classroom and two dorm rooms." He almost commented that the last room in the corner was Near's, but since Hadrian wouldn't understand the significance of the comment yet, he refrained.

The boy nodded, looking around the room carefully before turning back to Matt. His eyes were a clouded in thought, so Matt chose not to speak, but lead him to the elevator in silence. He wondered what Hadrian thought of Wammy's- unusual, for him, since usually even genius kids had their thoughts and opinions boldly written across their faces.

Matt glanced down at the bowed mop of inky hair, against all odds curious. He's seen so many new children arrive at the orphanage's doorstep, but something in Hadrian made him interested despite the fact that the novelty should have worn off a long time ago.

As they stepped out of the elevator and Matt lead the way to the dining hall, he mused over what L saw in Hadrian, and what the boy would bring to the House.

* * *

**A/N:** Bit of an information dump from Matt's side, eh? Sorry about that; I don't expect you to remember all this stuff (or the OC's). Hell, I don't remember most of it off the top of my head.

I won't apologize for taking so long to get this out; I have good reasons for that, and other things that had to be prioritized (school work and such). Still, I do hope that this for me rather long chapter, will make up for the wait!

So, what did you think about Matt? About the chapter in general? Reviews are motivation!

(As always, the tarot card meanings are from aeclectic(dot)net and all credits for that goes to them.)


	7. The Four of Swords II

**Changeling, chapter 7: Four of Swords II**

* * *

Harry frowned heavily, making sure to keep his head bowed so the paradoxically younger and older teen ahead of him wouldn't see his expression. The teenager – Matt - had been very accommodating, and his emotions were mostly calm and sincere, but the explanation about what Wammy's House was for had unsettled Harry more than he cared to show openly.

A genius factory. That's what it sounded like- at least from the outside. He knew he shouldn't be making assumptions this early on in his stay, but from Matt's explanation it was difficult for his paranoid mind to draw any other conclusion.

Becoming one of these Letters… it must put a lot of pressure on the non- and lower Letters. Was it really acceptable to pile so much on such young people's shoulders? For sure, making the world a safer place by educating children was an admirable goal… but it still didn't sound entirely moral to Harry.

He wasn't sure he wanted to become one of these Letter people, either. He wanted to continue translating and tracing the patterns he'd only just discovered in the older scripts from the library, and he wanted his freedom. He didn't want to be tied down by some kind of predetermined destiny or goal once again.

The sound of voices reached him, and he pushed the pessimistic thoughts to the back of his mind. They must be getting closer to the dining hall Wammy had mentioned lunch would be served in, and Harry felt nervousness coil in his stomach.

His empathy would be going haywire, he was sure. If he was fortunate, not all the residents would be eating at the same time.., but since he'd never been anywhere near lucky, concentrating on blocking out as much as he possibly could seemed like the best course of action. Wrapping his arm more tightly around his stomach and setting his jaws, he resolved to keep any reactions he might have to the others' feelings on the inside.

This would be his first serious trial he'd have to go through with the empathy, and Harry wished he had tried to desensitize himself before coming here, when he'd had the chance to do so uninterrupted. He really would have to be more careful in the future if he wanted to avoid suspicion. And if everyone here were geniuses in some way or other, then he'd have to be doubly so.

Though honestly, it was doubtful that anyone would figure out what was truly wrong even if he should react adversely to the chaos of emotion he was about to step into. The truth was too unbelivable, especially to muggles.

But something would need to be done about his room, when they assigned him one- it wouldn't do for him to wake up with objects flying around his bed as if caught by a local hurricane. That would most definitely arouse suspicion.

After a too short amount of time, the teenager – Matt – stopped outside the entrance to the kitchen. From his place just behind the red-head, Harry could see people getting seated in the chairs around a large rectangular table, most talking loudly or stretching over the table surface to speak to someone seated several chairs away from them.

Harry could feel Matt's eyes on him before the teen stepped out of the shadowed corridor and into the bright light illuminating the kitchen. The noise level stayed about the same as they greeted Matt, but then the children noticed him, half-hidden behind the - to them - familiar red-head.

The racket stopped successively, like a wave, as the children closest to the entrance quieted and the others followed their lead when they discovered the reason for the gradual silence.

The abrupt yellow-orange curiosity almost overwhelmed him, and he clenched his fists surreptitiously while he blocked out as much as he could. Thank Merlin that curiosity was a neutral emotion, because if he'd been hit with negativity to the same degree, Harry was sure he'd have collapsed.

Matt thankfully led him to a corner seat, away from the general din. Harry tried not to squirm under the collective gazes of everyone present as he sat down to the teen's right. Keeping his head down, he served himself a little of the salad right in front of him.

Matt started a conversation with the guy seated opposite them both, but Harry couldn't concentrate on their words. The wholesome curiosity he'd felt when he entered wasn't as pure as he'd first thought; there were touches of both harsh brownish-purple resentment and sickly greenish-blue worry interwoven with the general inquisiveness, and suddenly Harry wasn't hungry at all, despite how little he'd eaten today.

The noise level rose again after a few minutes of unsubtle whispers and glances in his direction. Harry didn't think the children had lost their curiosity, but they must have realized it wouldn't be sated at this moment. The yellow-orange faded into the background, and Harry could breathe easier again, though he wasn't able to work up any hunger.

After eating a few forkfuls of the salad leaves – prepared exquisitely with an olive oil-based dressing that Harry couldn't appreciate at all – he arranged the tableware on his plate and pushed them to the side.

Through his fringe, Harry could see the blonde teen Matt had been conversing with throughout lunch. The blonde was clad completely in black leather and was reclining in his chair like a lackadaisical wildcat with an expression to match his carelessly confident body language.

He reminded Harry of a cross between Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini; blonde arrogance and sneaky intelligence, but with a lot more casual curse words sprinkled in his sentences, and with forceful intonations to his words that suggested he wasn't a stranger to the seedier sides of life.

He and Matt were obviously good friends, though Harry couldn't imagine how that had happened; they seemed completely different in every way. Though obviously he couldn't make a deeper assessment, having only just met Matt and only just seen the blonde. Maybe the two complemented each other.

The children trickled out of the kitchen individually or in small groups when they were done eating, and in half an hour, there were less than 10 people still in the kitchen.

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief and with two fingers rubbed his temples in a circular motion. He could still feel a little of the emotions of the people still in the room, but most of them were teens and were minding their own business, so it wasn't too intrusive.

Harry frowned as he considered his weak resistance against invasive emotions. He needed to practice blocking it out if he was to survive this place without constant migraines.

Jumping a little in his seat when a glass was suddenly placed in front of him, Harry glanced up to see Matt grinning a little at him. He served Harry, himself and the blonde orange juice and then leaned back to stretch his arms out over his head.

Harry uncurled a little from his tensely knotted position in the chair and nodded in thanks. The orange juice was pleasantly cool, and went down his throat a lot smoother than the salad had. Harry briefly wondered if Matt had seen how hard he'd found it to eat, but dismissed the thought when the redhead turned towards him.

"This leathery freak right here is Mello." Matt stated, tilting his head in the blonde's direction. Harry stiffened a little at the word 'freak' – that word had always been a sore spot – but looked towards the blonde.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," Harry said politely, his voice dipping down into a near-whisper of its own accord. The blonde's cool blue eyes met Harry's own and Mello smirked a bit,

"Same. Your name's Hadrian, right?"

Harry nodded, eyes darting towards Matt. When had the teen told Mello his name? It was unlike Harry to be so distracted as to not notice when someone mentioned him.

Mello leaned forwards, placing his elbows on the table, "So, what are you here for?"

Harry couldn't help but frown at the blunt question. The blonde's projected emotions - dark yellow curiosity and tangy red attentiveness – were like those of a hyena or a vulture, sniffing around a corpse for some hidden treasure to devour. And the way he'd said it… it sounded like he was asking what crime Harry had been committed for him to have been sentenced to come here.

Despite the relative discomfort Harry felt at the imagery his mind conjured up, the blonde's intentions did not feel hostile, so he shrugged and murmured,

"My… guardian… was recently killed." He stumbled a little over the word, not knowing what Christine should be called, or what L had possibly told Matt about him. He'd have to be careful to keep his lies and half-truths in order, or risk tripping himself up by mistake.

"Shit, that fucking sucks, brat." Harry blinked at Mello's way of expressing compassion and bristled a little at his designation – _brat_? He was older than the blonde by several years – but said nothing back, because Mello's emotions had muted to a mixture of hard brown understanding speckled with chilly blue sympathy.

It was very peculiar to see the blonde's grimly neutral expression and feel the contrasting waves of his near-chaotic emotions. Especially since Mello felt absolutely no pity – but that was rather nice, since Harry had never liked being pitied. He had a feeling that this guy said what he thought, never mind expected social niceties.

Matt's peripherally flaring feelings to Harry's answer were also unexpected; blue-green worry flecked with dark gray sorrow and dotted with bright gray-purple dismay. Outwardly, the redhead was frowning, tapping the pads of his thumbs rhythmically to the sides of his index fingers in what seemed like a nervous habit.

Harry shrugged at Mello, feeling a little uncomfortable. Calling Christine his guardian wasn't an outright lie, but he wasn't exactly telling the truth either. Both Matt and Mello were probably imagining her to have been a long-time mother-figure, and she hadn't been. She'd been more of a temporary big sister, really. The sympathy felt rather nice, though.

"What do you do, then?" Mello the blond questioned after a few seconds, bluntly changing the subject. Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that question though, so he frowned in confusion, hoping that the blonde would elaborate.

Mello rolled his eyes, looking faintly annoyed. "What's your primary specialty? Matt is a hacker, I'm a criminologist, Linda is a painter..." he flung out an arm to illustrate his points and then looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry blinked. He didn't think he had a specialty, unless you counted magical research, and he couldn't precisely say that. He scrambled for an answer and came up with the only thing he felt he could safely say;

"Um, languages..." he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed.

Mello looked surprised and swung sideways to seat himself more properly. The chair shook precariously, but remained standing.

"You're a linguist?" He asked, seeming intrigued. It was kind of odd to hear words like that from someone who looked and acted the way Mello did. Harry had a sudden mental image of Hermione in Mello's clothes, cursing fluently as she explained something-or-other. It was rather disturbing, in all honesty. And _criminologist_? Mello looked like he belonged on the other end of that equation.

"No?" Harry answered softly, unsure. He wasn't a linguist, was he? Yes, he could speak a lot of different languages, but was that all there was to being a linguist? Surely not. He was just multilingual; a polyglot.

He said as much, feeling uncomfortable. Several of the languages he'd studied had been for reasons other than to speak them, so he wasn't entirely sure that he was "just" a polyglot, either.

"Are you done eating, Hadrian?" Matt suddenly asked softly from the side. He had interrupted Mello, who had already began to open his mouth. Harry saw the glance the blond shot Matt, but couldn't decipher it. It was a surprised that Mello would allow himself to be interrupted; he didn't seem like the type to allow something like that without rebuttal, even from a friend.

He wasn't entirely sure why Matt had ended the conversation – burgeoning interrogation - before it had hardly even began, but he was thankful. Matt seemed like a rather perceptive guy, which in Harry's experience was rather unusual for a teenage boy. And rather unfortunate for him, since perceptiveness plus secrets equaled a potentially bad outcome.

"Let's go up to your room, Hadrian," the redhead said when Harry nodded. He wasn't sure when his dorm room had been chosen for him, but didn't really care to argue.

Matt and Mello walked ahead up the stairs with Harry trailing after them. Mello's clunky black boots caused the stairs to creak a little, and as Harry watched his long latex-clad legs take two steps at a time, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been wrong in thinking this a genius factory full of suppressed and repressed automaton children. Mello certainly didn't fit the part.

"You'll be next to us, brat!" Harry was startled out of his musings at Mello's loud exclamation and looked up to find that they were standing in front of a half-open door.

Harry shot Matt a glance and the red-head pushed the door in, revealing the room that was to be Harry's.

It was furnished and smelled empty – if emptiness could be said to smell – containing only the bare basics of what a room needed. It made Harry more grateful than anything, really, since that meant he wouldn't have to ask to move much of the furniture out, to avoid localized furniture storms during bad nights.

Even as the room looked now though, there were still too much non-anchored furniture. While he doubted his nightmares would affect the heavy-looking bookcase furthest from the bed, the pinewood bed itself might cause problems.

Harry walked past Matt into the room and heard the two boys follow him in. Mello threw himself on the bed and Matt half-slumped by the wall, languidly, but Harry could feel both of them watching him as he inspected the room, so took care not to show any revealing expressions.

The nightstand by the bed would definitely have to go, as would the large vanity mirror beside the window. They were too breakable by far. The closet looked heavy enough to be allowed to keep its place during the nights. Maybe he could place the nightstand inside it, if there was enough room...

"Well?" Harry only barely resisted startling at Mello's voice and instead turned to look at him, cocking his head to the side in question. Mello rolled his eyes, and Harry got the impression he wanted to snort in annoyance or impatience.

"What do you think about the room?" Mello's tone implied that he was somewhat slow in the head and only the fact that Matt shot his friend another glance enabled him to keep from snapping something back.

"It's nice," he answered instead, but Mello didn't seem satisfied with the answer, so he added, "Spacier than what I'm used to."

"What was your old room like, then?" Matt asked, but though the teen's expression was neutral, Harry could see the intent interest floating about his form. He didn't really know how to answer or avoid answering the question without arousing suspicion, so he just shrugged.

The non-answer seemed to make both boys even more interested and Harry felt like sighing. It might have sounded conceited, but he really didn't want people butting into his life without his consent.

They didn't ask anything more, though. Instead Mello popped something out of a pocket and Harry was very surprised to see a square piece of chocolate in the blond's hand. That wasn't at all what he'd been expecting, and he found the contrasts in Mello rather fascinating. Such an odd mix of traits and quirks.

"Well, you know you can always change stuff around if you don't like it," he commented in between chewing and leaned back on the wall behind the bed, arms behind his head. It was both annoying and amusing how the teen seemed to just take liberties without asking for permission.

Harry was glad he wasn't expected to keep the room like this, though. That wouldn't have worked out for him.

"Can I change it as much as I want?" he asked carefully, not sure how much freedom they were allowed with their rooms.

Matt watched him curiously for a few seconds and then shrugged. "As long as you don't destroy anything, yes. And you can ask the caretakers or Wammy if you need a piece of furniture not already provided."

Harry nodded in acceptance. He wasn't planning on damaging anything, and he didn't want any more furniture in the room than was already in here.

"Well, before we head down to let you get settled in, I'm supposed to tell you that there will be an aptitude test at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning." Matt said. Mello abruptly jumped off the bed and strolled out the door with a casual wave of his hand, but Harry wasn't focused on him enough to be annoyed.

"An aptitude test?" he asked, frowning. His education was spotty at best, and what he'd read in the library up until now didn't cover any topics he thought they might want to test his aptitude in.

"Yeah. It's basically how good you are at different academics, so the teachers will know what level you're at in their particular subject and in which class to place you," Matt explained and waited until Harry nodded his understanding before he followed Mello out the door.

Harry looked around the room and figured that since he was allowed to change it, he might as well start immediately. He knew he wouldn't be able to move the heavier furniture, what with his small body, and he wasn't feeling confident enough to try using psychokinesis to augment what little strength he did have, but he could start by removing the mirror and the nightstand, at least.

* * *

"Well?" Matt asked Mello when they reached the corner of the House's library; It was the spot they usually met in when they needed to discuss serious things. Matt had figured out that the cameras hidden all around the orphanage weren't angled to see into this spot and told Mello, and since then they had been going here with regular intervals, whenever the need arose.

"Shy, defensive, secretive. Like half of the other fucking brats in this place." Mello snorted, swinging his feet over the edge of the table to rest on the wooden surface. He picked at his hair, and Matt recognized the gesture as one of thoughtfulness.

"You... found him tolerable?" Matt asked, because Mello only very rarely liked people. There were a few he found tolerable, though, and apparently the House's newest addition could be counted into those ranks.

Mello shrugged nonchalantly and pulled out another piece of chocolate. Matt figured he wouldn't get a more detailed answer than that, so he hopped up the windowsill next to the table for a smoke.

They sat in silence for a long time, but Matt couldn't help but glance warily at Mello every few minutes. That thoughtful expression was not at all reassuring.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed; it really is very motivational.

I had several people ask me for an update, and finally **mabidiso**'s lovely PM got me working again. It's hot like you wouldn't believe up here in Sweden, which is why I haven't updated. Even doing _nothing_ makes me sweat, and my brain feels like mush *fans herself*

Tell me what you thought of the chapter? Oh, and could you tell what Matt's nervous habit really was? ;)


	8. The Four of Swords III

**Changeling, chapter 8: The Four of Swords III**

* * *

"What is he doing?" L murmured to the computer screen. He'd been careful to set up cameras in all rooms of the orphanage, regardless of whether those rooms were inhabited or not. This had proved to be a wise choice, since what was now Hadrian's room had stood empty for a long time before the boy's arrival.

L's own room in the orphanage was a fully equipped control center, with computer screens covering two of the walls, monitoring events both in- and outside the orphanage and in the world in general. Seven screens were tuned to news stations from around the world, and the largest screen – displaying a black L in gothic font against a white background – was flickering with letters and codes. Requests for his services, or thank-you's for missions completed, probably.

At the moment though, L couldn't care less. He was much too focused on the way the orphanage's newest addition was forcing his nightstand into the large closet in the corner of the room. It had taken L several seconds to confirm that yes, Hadrian Doe was in fact trying to shove the piece of furniture into the closet, and wasn't just attempting to move it.

It didn't make much – if any – sense. But very little about Hadrian seemed to. L had in vain searched for clues to the boy's past whereabouts in different databases, ran recognition scans with candid photos and even called in a favor with a police officer to search through missing-persons lists for children with the boy's facial features.

Nothing. Nothing had come up, at all. Zero, nada, _zilch_. It was one of the most infuriating and fascinating information blockades L had ever ran across and he was determined to break through and find the boy's identity one way or other.

He did have contacts on the other side of law enforcement, after all.

Something crashed on the computer screen and L turned his attentions back to the present. He could plot later, when the puzzle had gone to bed for the night.

One of the nightstand's drawers had fallen out of its front during the move, and Hadrian was standing half turned around at the waist, pushing the piece of furniture in with his hip and attempting to retrieved the fallen drawer with his now free hands. He succeeded with moderate success, placing the drawer on top of the stand instead and forcing the closet doors shut.

There was a strange dichotomy in the way the boy moved; sometimes very smooth, with graceful movements that belied his years, and sometimes jerkily, as if he was adjusting to walking after an accident.

An accident?

Perhaps he _was_... L turned towards another keyboard and drew up a search in all hospital records for a boy around Hadrian's age with similar colouring. He would have done a face recognition scan, but he hadn't been able to capture a detailed enough picture.

It was as if the boy was used to having a longer reach and kept overestimating his arm- and leg length, L thought, watching Harian almost trip over his own feet when attempting to close the closet doors again.

The search box beeped: _No matches for your enquiry_, and L wanted to throw something at the wall in frustration, but the only things he had at hand were expensive computer equipments and a box of sugar-dipped cookies.

L threw an unused speaker at the wall, taking a little satisfaction at the crunching sound that followed and leaned back on his haunches grumpily.

He'd never waste a box of cookies.

"Watari?" L called into a microphone to his right, using the codename even on the very secure line Matt had established for him. It wouldn't do to get complacent, since outside hackers should never be underestimated. He should know; Matt was one of his heirs, after all.

"Yes, L?"

"Have you gone through the material from the dining hall today?" L asked, biting his thumb gently.

"I have. Our newest addition seem to be getting along well with Matt, and it appears he specializes in languages."

Languages? L frowned, his forehead creasing. A specialization in languages required a lot of focused study; one or two languages could be picked up during childhood, but more than that was likely to be the result of much tutoring.

"Did he mention which languages he speaks?" There were many different schools that gave their students the opportunity to study the more well-known languages, and a few that majored in the more esoteric ones. Knowing which languages Hadrian had studied would narrow the search down considerably, especially since language-based curriculums were rarely afforded to younger students.

"I'm afraid not."

L broke a cookie in two pieces, stabbing at them with his thumbnail and watching them turn into fine crumbs. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he wrapped his arms around his knees. He'd never been good at waiting patiently, but it seemed like he'd have no choice this time.

"What aptitude test did you have in mind for him?" Watari asked after a few minutes of silence, allowing L to compose himself enough to sweep the breadcrumbs into his coffee.

"The basic one; mathematics, history, medicine, computers, common knowledge, psychology, philosophy, languages, astronomy, and social intelligence."

He couldn't specialize it more than that with so little background information, though perhaps he could use some of the harder questions for linguists in the language section.

"... Patience, L."

L could almost see his mentor's calm smile and glared at the microphone, turning it off without further comments.

He didn't like working with so little information, especially since he had a gut feeling that Hadrian was a lot more than he seemed. There was just something about the boy that made L want to dissect him, but he only had half a piece of this murky 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, and half a piece didn't fit in anywhere.

L turned his attention back to the screen showing Hadrian's room, staring at the now sleeping boy. Despite how still Hadrian seemed, and how silent, there was nothing in his expression that suggested peaceful sleep.

With his forehead creased and both arms curled around his torso, the boy looked to be fighting back demons. Not too unexpected, given the nature of the boy's circumstances, but troubling nevertheless.

He would have to make sure Hadrian received appropriate attention to deal with the trauma before he developed full-blown PTSD. The defensive stances he took and the way he held his arms as if to ward off anything that might want to come near, suggested defensive habits had already formed.

L couldn't be sure, however, as he watched Hadrian twist restlessly, if those habits were newly formed in response to Christine Jensen's murder... or if they were a sign that something had been wrong before that.

L dipped another cookie into his coffee and frowned. There was something strange about the relationship between Jensen and the boy. No matter how innocuous Hadrian had put it, the fact that a grown woman would suddenly decide to strike up a friendship with a prepubescent boy was rather unlikely.

L munched on his treat, licking the sugar from his lips. Perhaps Jensen's family knew something about it? He hadn't taken the time to interview them yet, but he could send Wammy to speak with them on his behalf – if they knew anything, even so much as recognized the boy's name, he would personally interview them.

And if they didn't recognize it he would be back on square one until more clues were provided, but with one important piece of information: Jensen would have chosen to keep her relationship with the boy a secret. And that was a clue in and of itself, though what it told, he couldn't be sure yet.

* * *

Harry woke up to a pounding on the door and groaned unhappily into his pillow. He wasn't done sleeping yet, damnit!

"Hadrian," a voice singsonged outside the door, and it took Harry several moments to remember that he wasn't in magical England, or in Christine's apartment, but in the genius factory called Wammy's House.

_Possible genius factory,_ he amended when he recognized the blond teen from yesterday to be the source of the too-early greeting. Scrubbing his face with the sleeves of his borrowed pajamas, Harry tried to put a name to the blond before he burst through the door.

_Something like Melon,_ he thought sluggishly as he threw his too-short legs over the edge of the bed. _No, wait, it was something completely unsuitable for his disposition... right, Mello._

Harry heard the other boy's – Matt's – dismayed exclamation before the door burst open and the blond stepped inside, looking unapologetic as he studied the now bare room.

"This place looks like a fucking prison cell," he commented bluntly before stepping towards Harry to throw himself across the bed, biting off a piece of chocolate when he had himself settled. Harry stared, torn between incredulous amusement and outrage.

_And he called _me_ a brat,_ he thought in disbelief, drawing his legs back up and folding them underneath himself.

"You sure stripped the room faster than a call-girl on duty," he continued, looking thoughtfully at the empty place next to the bed, where the nightstand had been the day before.

Harry blinked, for the first time glad he hadn't hit puberty in this body yet, as that statement would most definitely have made him blush.

"Mello, for Christ's sake, he's nine-" Matt said, nodding apologetically as he stepped through the doorway. He shone with bright exasperated amusement as Mello smirked and shrugged, and Harry watched the by-play with fascination. He'd bet his now non-existent vault that this banter was a common pastime for the two of them.

"_Are_ you nine, Hadrian?"

The blond turned to him with the question, eyes calculating, and only the fact that Mello's sudden flare of intent yellow-orange curiosity and orange-red inquisitiveness had forewarned him a less than pleasant question was forthcoming stopped him from jerking guiltily.

Harry stared at Mello for a moment before lifting his shoulders in a tiny shrug. Sighing, he answered,

"More or less."

Mello's eyes sharpened and Harry could peripherally see Matt flare with red attentiveness edged with flat blue suspicion and dotted in blue-green worry.

"Ah, 'more or less', eh? Well, well..." Mello smirked, seeming on the verge of an unnerving cackle.

"It doesn't much matter, does it?" Harry asked, feigning disinterest. When neither of the boys answered, Harry took the lull in conversation as the perfect opportunity to change subject. He was already taking too many risks; what had he been thinking, to answer the blond's question in such a vague manner? Anyone would have grown suspicious at an answer like that.

He should have known better than to try and answer such a dangerous question still half-asleep. Not sure if the teens would find something suspicious in his asking for coffee, Harry gave a mental sigh and turned his mind in another direction.

"So why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?"

He added the last part sarcastically, eyeing the way Mello had burrowed down into the covers. Mello's lips twitched and he gave Harry a purposefully lazy smile.

Matt sighed quietly, rolling his eyes at Mello before answering. "To guide you to the aptitude test hall."

Harry frowned thoughtfully, only just remembering the fact that he was supposed to take some sort of test today.

"What time is it?"

"Seven fifteen, or thereabout," Matt said and bent down to dig through his backpack, which he'd placed at his feet. He retrieved a large sandwich wrapped in plastic covering and stepped forward to hand it over. As Mello looked about to snatch it from his friend's hand, Harry bent to meet Matt halfway. He wasn't fond of eating much for breakfast, but he'd prefer not to take an important test on a completely empty stomach.

"Thank you."

"It was no trouble."

"If Mello was there when you grabbed it for me, I sincerely doubt that," Harry muttered, receiving a large smile from the redhead and an irritated curse from the blond.

He ate as much as he could without being impolite to Matt, but half the sandwich remained when he was full.

"You're done? You're a growing boy-" Matt began and Harry tensed a little, preparing himself for an unwanted clash of wills. He couldn't eat more at the moment and that was that.

"Come on, Mama Bear, not all 'growing boys' eat like sumo wrestlers," Mello grinned toothily, breaking the argument before it had a chance to begin. Matt spluttered indignantly at the nickname and Harry relaxed, wrapping the sandwich in the packaging again. He did feel Mello shoot him a glance, but the emotions that accompanied the glanced were much too muddled – like an abstract watercolour painting in which all the paint had run together – so he looked away before a headache could strike him.

"I'll eat the rest after the test," he promised Matt, not sure if he was lying or not, and then edged off the bed.

"I need more clothes..." he muttered, eyeing the only change he'd brought with him and sighing.

"We have a seamstress here," Matt commented absently, again rummaging through his backpack. Harry resisted gaping at him. _What kind of orphanage has a seamstress on call?_

"We could take you there later today, brat."

"Ah, thank you," Harry answered, unsure if he should bother feeling insulted at the designation after the teenager had offered to spend more time with him, just to show him to the seamstress. Then again, he was sure Mello had more ulterior motives than the seemingly helpful suggestion admitted to.

"Anyway, just change already, so we can get going!"

Harry frowned uncomfortably, mind racing as he tried to come up with a viable reason as for why he wouldn't change in front of the two boys. Calling attention to his scars in any way would lead to more uncomfortable questions and might even end up leading to the police getting involved.

Or L, as it were.

Did everything always have to be so complicated? Sometimes it felt as though the universe was conspiring to set these kind of situations as obstacles on his path to a semi-normal life.

_Enough with the self-pity._ Harry mentally shook his head, annoyed with his lapse in self-control. He knew better than to whine, even to himself.

"Hadrian?"

Harry's eyes darted up to meet Matt's concerned ones, and with no appropriate excuse conjured, he pursed his lips.

"No."

"'No' what, brat?" Mello snapped impatiently, glaring down at the empty chocolate paper crinkled in his hand. In the back of his mind, in the small part that wasn't freaking out about the situation, Harry made a mental note to remember that a chocolateless Mello was a cranky Mello. It might come in handy later; for possible bribes, perhaps.

"I'm not changing with you in the room," Harry explained, putting a stubborn note in his voice. His old-world friends would have recognized that tone immediately, but Mello just snorted.

"What are you, a girl? You haven't got nothing we haven't seen before."

Harry wanted to answer,_ I sincerely doubt that_, but that would have been an open invitation for Mello to interrogate him.

"Just – no."

A small amount of panic rose up in his throat, and Harry hadn't thought it would be noticed, but both Matt and Mello's colors sharpened abruptly, swirling out and pulsating; orange-red, grey-purple, blue-green, pure blue... it was headache inducing. Especially when he stopped being able to separate the colors belonging to the redhead from the ones belonging to the blond.

He hadn't thought emotions could bleed so far out into the air from the body, but apparently they could if the people were emotional enough. He'd have to think that over, sometime when his mind wasn't invaded by rainbow vomit and panic.

Something hard was rubbing the middle of his chest, hurting him, and Harry blinked rapidly.

"-amn it, brat, _wake up_!"

Mello's voice penetrated the general chaos his mind was suffused in, sounding harshly worried and Harry raised a hand to push against the one pressing circles into his sternum. The movement was weak, but Mello's fingers stopped trying to rub a hole into his chest, so Harry considered it a success anyway.

"Hadrian, are you back with us?" Matt's voice asked from somewhere behind his head and Harry realized that the red-headed teen had moved to stand next to the headboard.

"I didn' go'nywhere," Harry mumbled and then jumped when a hand smacked him over the head.

"The _hell_ you didn't! You were out of it for minutes, brat, goddamnit..." Mello swore a blue streak, and Harry couldn't tell for sure if it was borne out of worry or annoyance. Not feeling up to focusing on the colors swirling around the crown of blond hair again just yet, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to understand what had just happened.

Well, obviously he'd – fainted. And Merlin, wasn't _that_ embarrassing? He hadn't fainted for anything less than near-fatal injuries in... well, _ever_!

And how in the world was he going to explain this to the too-intelligent, too-inquisitive teens currently staring at him? Nothing he could say would sound anywhere near plausible, unless he made a whole chain of lies about 'an old illness' or some such. And lies like that had a tendency to hinder more than they helped, at least in the long run.

"Are we going now?" Harry asked, taking refuge in audacity. Completely ignoring what had just happened wasn't something the other two would expect of him – indeed, as their dumbfounded expressions attested to – and he really didn't feel like trying to spin a believable excuse.

"Like _hell_ are we going anywhere until you explain just what the _fuck_ happened," Mello said in the calmest, most even tone Harry had heard from him yet. It was strange how the blond teen could curse so casually without it sounding contrived.

"Nothing happened, but it was a long day yesterday and I didn't get much sleep tonight..." Harry explained, and only the fact that he was speaking truthfully – though it wasn't the real reason he'd lost consciousness, it had been a long day and quite an awful night – kept his expression neutral in the face of the two boys obvious scepticism.

"Are you going to collapse any more on the way?" Mello asked callously, annoyance sparking around him like a halo of lightning and harry shook his head, feeling a bit regretful. They'd only been worried about him, and he'd repayed that kindness with a lie.

Mello eyed him with an unreadable expression, annoyance muting, and then shrugged.

"Whatever; it's your life."

While Harry was sure that the teen wasn't about to drop the subject that easily, he was thankful for the reprieve, however temporary it might be. Matt looked less certain than Mello, but he folded to his friends wishes with a glance in the boy's direction. There was something about that glance that Harry didn't quite trust; Matt neither felt nor looked like he was bowing out of the discussion.

But that was a worry for another time.

"Are we going now?" he asked tentatively, feeling like he was on shaky ground with the other two.

Matt nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. It was nice to know that the redhead wasn't upset with him, but he still felt a bit hesitant.

"What's the aptitude test like?" Harry asked curiously when they started making their way up the stairs to the fourth floor.

Matt was the one to turn around to look at him from where he'd been watching Mello's back worriedly as the blond fairly marched up the steps, stomping and making a racket. Harry genuinely hoped that his refusal to answer their questions wasn't what had put the teen in such a bad mood.

"For the younger children," Harry frowned a little at that and saw amusement flash in both the redhead's aura and in his eyes. "- no offence intended - the test is in a fairly wide area of subjects."

Matt paused, looking to be gathering his thoughts and then continued, "For the older children, or those were L and Wammy already know what subject they specialize in, they're more focused."

Harry nodded. That made sense, even if he really didn't like being one of the younger children. He'd lived self-reliantly for so long it felt like an insult against everything he'd ever been. Pursing his lips, Harry mentally shook his head and let the thought go.

He was just about to ask Matt another question when he realized that Mello was blocking the way, standing on the very last step of the stairs, back rigid with tension. Around him floated thick blobs of brown-purple resentment and... was that grey-tinged rusty red splotch _combativeness_?

Harry hid a frown. The intensity of the latter smudges of color made him wary. Combativeness was all well and good when it helped you improve, but there was an almost sickly tinge to Mello's color.

"Mello," Matt hissed at the boy's back, worried realization flashing around him like bright lightning, and Harry couldn't help feeling intrigued by how suddenly the mood had shifted.

Mello stalked forwards, Matt hot on his heels, and Harry hesitated for all of a second before he too followed. He didn't want to be nosey and intrusive, but neither of the two had given any indications that they wanted him to remain behind.

Almost crashing into Matt when the redhead stopped abruptly, Harry tilted sideways to peer into the room around the teen's back. Mello was standing a few paces away, glaring down at something out of sight, in the corner furthest away in the room.

Cocking his head, Harry wondered what was going on, but said nothing. Mello's emotions were pulsating; running up and down the teens form and sparking like firework – or explosions – in some places. Trying to analyse it would most definitely lead to another embarrassing fainting spell, so Harry glanced upwards to Matt, who was watching the proceedings with a heavy frown.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Mello finally snarled, and Harry nearly jumped at the harsh sound. The anger made the blond teen's voice almost sibilant, and that brought up memories Harry didn't care to dwell on.

"My dorm is here, as you already know," a monotone voice answered and Harry realized that the spike of Mello's emotions had hidden the person – was that a boy? - crouched down on the floor in the corner the blond teen was glaring into.

Harry stepped around Matt, wanting to get a better look at the kind of person who would enrage Mello this badly just by being in the same room.

* * *

**A/N:** There, an update. Thanks to everyone who reviewed - sorry if I missed anyone - school is officially back in business and whipping us into shape. Meaning less time to write, unfortunately. Didn't get all the scenes I wanted into this chapter, but it's really all Mello's fault. He struts in and works his magic, stealing screen-time and generally behaving like Mello. I was meaning to write the aptitude test, but you shall have to wait until next chapter for that (I think), since I need to do some research and work things out a bit more.

This is unbetaed, due to lack of time and laziness, so please tell me if you catch any errors!

Tell me what you thought about the chapter?


	9. The Queen of Swords II

**Chapter 9: The Queen of Swords II**

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The boy was dressed all in white, with pale skin and even paler hair. At first glance he could have been one of those muggle ghost impersonators that showed up around Hallowe'en to strut about town and do whatever it was muggle children usually did on that day.

The boy was perched on the floor, one arm around a drawn-up knee and a lock of his white hair spun around his index finger, expressionlessly studying a puzzle as white as everything else about this boy.

If not for the boy's eyes – which were black, contrasting sharply with his otherwise washed-out appearance. Harry frowned. Eyes like those were unnatural in a person with obvious albino traits. They must be lenses, perhaps to protect the boy's eyes from the harsh light - which would explain why the iris seemed to encroach on the sclera.

"Near," Mello hissed hatefully and Harry frowned in confusion at the random spat-out word. _Near what?_

"Mello," the monotone voice answered, and Harry frowned further. From the byplay between the two, he'd say that Near was a name, no matter how odd that seemed. His synapses must be firing at all cylinders, because Harry was sure that this realization wasn't one he would have grasped so quickly before his transformation into a genius.

The boy tilted his head up a bit further, white bangs falling into those too-large black eyes. He wore one of the blankest expressions Harry had ever seen, and there was a stillness to his movements that seemed to suggest the absence of life, even as his gaze was observing. Somehow, it was like looking into the eyes of a corpse or maybe a fish; the gaze too – _flat_ to seem real.

"Matt," the boy continued, eyes focused on the redhead. Matt nodded a little, acknowledging the greeting but not quite returning it, and Harry wondered if it was due to his own dislike of the albino boy or due to his friendship with Mello.

The boy's eyes slid slowly to where Harry still stood, still half-hidden behind Matt, and his gaze sharpened. There was no way this Near could see more than a part of his face and arm, but Harry still felt as if he was under an x-ray, penetrated with cold, impersonal efficacy. It wasn't nearly as unnerving as being under Snape's or Dumbledore's Legilimentically probing gazes, but from such a young muggle boy, it was still like an unexpected punch to the solar plexus.

Unsure of what to do and how to react, Harry stared back, wondering if it was normal to keep your eyes open for that long without blinking. Most likely it was doable due to the wide lenses keeping his eyes from watering, but Harry still felt like he lost some unnamed competition when he was the first to blink.

"Hello. I'm Near."

Harry almost jumped at the boy's voice, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps because the whole floor had been silent for so long, with Matt and Mello merely observing. It couldn't have been more than two minutes since they'd come up here, but it felt like they'd been at a stand-still for a much longer period of time.

Harry nodded, raising a hand in greeting. He didn't have any reason to dislike this Near person, and since fifth year, when all the rumors about his supposed mental instability circulated, he'd been determined not to judge based on any preconceived notions. He didn't know what Mello's dislike of the boy stemmed from, but he wouldn't adopt it just because he'd met Mello first.

"I'm Hadrian. Nice to meet you."

Near tilted his head further to the side, tugging on the lock of hair around his finger.

"You haven't gotten your name yet," he commented absently, looking back down to his puzzle. Harry frowned in confusion at the strange sentence even as Mello snorted.

"Way to state the obvious," he muttered sourly and Harry could imagine the teen grinding his teeth. Mello's aura was still swirling around him – less agitated than before, but still with a chillingly hot anger boiling just underneath the surface of calm – and it was more than a little disturbing to see.

Harry knew that kind of anger wouldn't lead to anything good or productive, and would most likely erupt in some explosive fashion sometime in the near future.

"He'll get his name after the aptitude test," Matt said, his hands half-raised in a warding gesture, voice soothing. Harry had expected Mello to sneer at his friend, or perhaps curse, but he only snorted again. To Harry's surprise, he could see the colors around him thaw a little and again wondered at the strange friendship the two boys shared.

"He's taking the test now?" Near's monotone voice interrupted before Harry had the chance to ask about this name he was apparently supposed to be receiving and why everybody was so involved in it.

"Yes," Harry said, when neither of the other two seemed inclined to answer. Mello shot him a quick look that Harry couldn't decipher, but said nothing.

Near stared at him in that same unblinking manner and gave a slow nod. A piece of the puzzle was clenched between his index finger and his thumb, and his hand was poised to place it. Instead of moving to do so, he stayed frozen in that position - just looking at Harry - for what seemed like an eternity.

"Okay, creep, that's enough ogling," Mello finally snapped and Harry startled at the boy's sudden interruption, kind of thankful to have the gaze turn away from him.

Near blinked in Mello's direction, eyes absent, and looked back down to the puzzle. He fit the piece into an opening with a quiet click.

"You're wearing pajamas," the white-haired boy murmured, sounding matter-of-fact. Harry wasn't sure if it was a question or not – the boy's tone was without inflection – but he nodded anyway, looking down at the too-large pajamas he was bundled up in. He'd found them on his bed yesterday, and hadn't been willing to ask for a smaller size at the time.

There was a moment of silence and Harry couldn't help but wonder why only he seemed to find it uncomfortable. _Are these kinds of silences the norm when these three are in the same room?_

He'd never have imagined Mello-the-firework staying quiet for this long. _Maybe I misjudged him?_ Harry glanced at the blond, who was glaring at the door to their right, and mentally shook his head. _No, he's definitely a firework._

Maybe the boy just brought this side of Mello out. _Why am I focusing on this, anyway? I should be enquiring about the test-_ Harry turned to look up at Matt, whose aura was still blue-ish, though now less prominent, and opened his mouth to get the redhead's attention.

The door Mello had been glaring holes into opened before he had a chance to ask anything, and a tall, blond woman stepped out.

"Anna!" Matt called and Harry was sure he didn't imagine the relief coloring the boy's tone. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who'd found the silence unbearably awkward, after all.

"Matt," the aforementioned Anna raised both eyebrows at the redheaded teen and then nodded to Mello. "Mello, Near," her head swivelled around to greet them eye to eye, before her gaze came to rest on Harry.

Matt moved to the side, just enough to reveal him fully to the woman, and Harry stepped forward reluctantly. It wasn't that he was afraid of her, or even of strangers in general, but the situation was entirely uncomfortable. _Why does everybody in this house stare so?_

"And you must be Hadrian," she greeted softly, and it rankled when she had to bend down to look him in the eye. Harry nodded in affirmation and she smiled brightly, stepping back to gesture into the opened door.

Harry rocked back on his heels for a moment – Moody would roll in his grave to realize that he'd walked into an unknown room without checking it for traps first – but gave an internal sigh and obeyed the nonverbal invitation. There wasn't much else he could do without it appearing suspicious. He already given away too many clues to the fact that he didn't grow up in the most stable of environments, and Merlin knew what kind of conclusions they'd draw from what he'd let slip. He couldn't underestimate the perceptiveness of geniuses, no matter how they acted.

_Constant Vigilance!_ A voice in the back of his mind roared and Harry's lips reluctantly twitched upwards before he stepped over the threshold and into the room.

"See you later, brat," Mello barked after him and Harry stuck his head back out to nod and give his thanks. Mello tch'd and waved him back with a negligent shooing motion and Harry ducked back into the room.

It was very obviously a classroom; there were rows upon rows of tables going from one side of the room to the other, all facing a large whiteboard hung on the wall next to the door Harry just stepped through.

A wave of frustrated excitement hit him when he got a bit farther into the room and Harry stiffened when he noticed the other two people already occupying the room. In the corner, together with the man Harry had met as Watari, but who Matt had reintroduced as Wammy, was another man; younger, maybe in his twenties, with black hair and even blacker eyes. His skin was almost as pale as Near's, and he had pronounced dark circles under his eyes, attesting to long periods with little sleep.

He was perched on the chair's seat like a frog, hunched over his knees with bare feet peeking out of the ragged denim hems of his jeans.

Harry stared for all of a second before he regained his equilibrium enough to look down. _Are there no normal people in this place?_ The hunched-over man looked even less like a genius than Mello did, and that was saying something, considering that Mello had the appearance and conduct of a junior member of the muggle Hells Angels.

This man looked like a drug-addict or a mental patient; eyes too large for his head and posture too practised to seem quite normal.

"Ah, please have a seat right here," Anna spoke up behind him and Harry glanced at where she was indicating. It was a few rows in front of Wammy and the frog-man and Harry knew that if he sat there, he'd have the two of them – or at least the frog – staring at his back for as long as it took to complete the test.

There was absolutely no way he'd be able to concentrate on a written test when the only exit was several rows away from him, especially not with an unknown with an unnerving grin – who was currently also chewing on his thumb - at his back.

Harry frowned slightly, glancing at the sheaf of papers in front of the indicated seat and decided to make a bold move. He approach the seat and carefully picked up the papers, feeling the frog's intent stare on him and resolutely refusing to look up to meet the gaze. He wasn't sure if that was a sign of weakness or strength, and at the moment, he didn't much care.

Looking around, he spotted the seat closest to the exit and went over, pulled out the chair and sat down.

From somewhere behind him there was a flash of annoyance, and another flash of amusement, and though Harry couldn't pinpoint which emotion belonged to who, he was sure the annoyance came from the frog man. It had a taste to it that seemed to resonate with the hunched-over man.

"Hadrian? Your seat -" Anna's voice rang out, sounding confused. Harry craned his neck to look up at her, meeting startled blue eyes, and cocked his head to the side in thought.

"Does it matter where I sit, ma'am?" he asked, genuinely curious and somewhat suspicious at her hesitance before she shook her head.

There was another, stronger flash of annoyance from the frog-man, and Harry stiffened a little in his seat. He wanted to turn his head to look at the swirling feelings, wanted to get a better impression of the man, but he had a feeling that meeting that gaze would feel even worse than meeting Near's.

The annoyance muted and turned contemplative and Harry stiffened further. _Don't be interested in me!_ He wasn't sure what quality the man had that set such a quiver of dread aflame in his stomach, but he knew his instincts well enough not to dismiss them out of hand.

"All right," Anna continued after a brief bout of silence, clasping her hands in front of her stomach. "Do you have any idea what it is we are about to do here today?" she asked kindly, looking at him with an expression that would have had Harry trusting her immediately – if he'd truly been a nine year old. As it was, he merely observed the beige calmness clouding around her head and shoulders, comforted by the fact that at least for now, this woman had no ulterior motives regarding him.

"Matt explained a bit about the tests, yes," Harry confirmed, nodding as he eyes the top paper in the pile. He looked up to see Anna watching him with a small reassuring smile, obviously believing him to be nervous.

"Ah, Matt. I'm so glad you've made friends with him; he's such a nice boy," she commented, still smiling, and when he realized she was waiting for him to answer her somehow, Harry nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing to. He wasn't yet a friend of Matt's, was he? And for that matter, the age difference between them – both the one felt by him as an adult, and by them as teenagers seeing him as a prepubescent boy – was still in many ways an obstacle on the path to friendship. At least, he'd thought it was. At Hogwarts, the younger years had rarely mixed with the older; an age difference larger than that of a first year and a fifth year student wasn't something he'd ever seen in two friends in all his time at school.

Though maybe that wasn't the case at Wammy's House, where geniuses abounded. Maybe it was more a case of geniuses stick together, no matter their age, since the word genius all but implied that one would have a more mature mindset than one's age peers.

Perhaps that was why it seemed to be generally acceptable to be... rather strange in both appearance and bearing. Harry would have thought that the very first thing Anna would comment upon when meeting him was his still being pajama-clad, but she hadn't batted an eye at that. _Does being a genius automatically make you eccentric?_

Harry frowned at the thought. That couldn't be the case; Hermione had been close to the genius line, if not standing on it, and she was perfectly normal. But then again... Harry threw his thoughts to Dumbledore and grimaced a little. The Headmaster had definitely been a genius, and Harry had never met anyone as strange as Dumbledore. _The man's dress code alone was loony enough by itself,_ he thought fondly, _let alone all his strange mannerisms._

"Oh, but where are my manners?" Anna suddenly exclaimed, pressing her hands together in dismay, "My name is Anna Anderson, and it's very nice to meet you."

Harry smiled a little at her scatterbrained introduction. He wasn't sure if the woman was one of the genius alumni Matt had mentioned before, or if she'd been hired for some other purpose, but it was stabilizing to meet someone who at the very least _appeared_ to be normal after already having run into several strange people in his short stay here.

"It's nice to meet you too," Harry said, nodding and managing to ignore the stronger flash of annoyance coming from behind him. _Who is that man, anyway? Why is he here? ...And why is he so annoyed?_

"Lets begin then! Answer as many questions as you can and ignore the ones you don't know the answer to," Anna said with a wide smile, slapping her palms against her thighs. The instructions weren't very comprehensive, but Harry supposed they would be all he needed for this.

Looking down at the test index, Harry resisted the urge to sigh. _Looks like Matt was right. 'Wide area of subjects', indeed. This is going to take a while..._

The first section was titled **'Common Knowledge'**, and never had Harry been so thankful that he'd spent so much time in the library to learn about this world. Despite that though, because he'd mostly focused on recent events in Britain, there were several questions he couldn't answer – such as who had lead the governing body during the muggle Vietnam War, or who had sanctioned the atomic bombings in WWII. These things hadn't seemed important to learn when he'd had the opportunity to do so and Harry winced internally when he realized just how many questions in this section he'd have to leave blank.

The second section was **'History'**, in which he did marginally better than he had in the first. He hadn't had muggle history since before Hogwarts and it was hard to recall facts he hadn't thought of for so many years. But that was another perk in being a newly made genius – it was hard, but not impossible. If he focused, he could almost hear the sound of his first muggle teacher's voice as she lectured the class...

Smiling a little in triumph, Harry scribbled down the answers to seven consecutive questions dealing with Britain's early history, and thus finished the section.

Next came **'Mathematics'** and Harry swallowed a frown as the equations became more difficult the farther he read. _They really test little kids on this stuff? If not for the obligatory Arithmancy lessons during my Unspeakable training and the Calculus books I read in the library, I wouldn't have been able to answer half of this!_ As it was, he did much better in this section than he had in the first two, but there were still many questions he didn't even understand, let alone knew the answer to.

_There are actually kids here who know this stuff?_ A little spooked, Harry turned the page to see the title for the fourth section: **'Medicine'** and blinked. Medicine? He didn't know anything about muggle medicine! He hadn't been to a doctor since he was a toddler, and he only knew that because Petunia had later grumbled about the medical costs of his vaccinations!

He only answered ten questions in that whole section, and only because those questions were either very general ones, like the symptoms of a common cold and what could be used to treat a cough, or things dealing with fight-related injuries, like how to wrap a bandage and how to set a dislocated shoulder. _It's not like I ever wanted to be a doctor anyway,_ Harry mentally shrugged and turned the page to the next section.

**'Computers'** was the title and Harry smiled as he managed to answer almost half of the questions; much more than he'd expected, and mostly thanks to the books he'd read on the subject of computer security. Without those, this section would have had him at a complete loss, because he'd never used a computer before coming to this world.

The next section, **'Psychology'**, he managed to fill in about half of the questions, mostly those pertaining to the moral and ethical development in children, which was something he'd studied at the library - first and foremost because he wanted to know if people – like Tom – could be born evil, or if something had to have gone wrong somewhere along the way. The latter had seemed more likely after reading the books, and Harry still wasn't sure if that relieved or upset him.

Next came **'Philosophy'** and Harry smiled to find a lot of the questions corresponding with what he'd read about ancient Greek and Roman philosophers. He found that he could answer almost all the questions with a measure of confidence.

Turning the page, Harry saw the next section's title and only barely managed to contain the grin that wanted to turn his lips upwards. That strange man was still focused on him and Harry didn't want to be hit by any more bouts of interest and risk losing his equilibrium.

The **'Languages'** section was as long as the **'Common Knowledge'** and **'History'** sections had been, and Harry wasn't sure if it was too paranoid to think that it might be on purpose. Languages was a pretty specialized area, wasn't it? It shouldn't have been longer than the **'Psychology'** or **'Philosophy'** sections, in that case. So perhaps... unless he really was just being paranoid.

_There are no coincidences, Potter! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_ Moody's voice thundered the motto at him and Harry clenched his jaw.

_Even if it turns out I was wrong, I'd rather be overly cautious than reckless,_ Harry decided and then abruptly snorted as he marvelled at how much he'd changed. Really, that sounded more like something Hermione would have said to him and Ron than something he'd honestly think for himself.

Either way, this could mean he was either being spied on from afar, or someone was reporting his conversations to whoever produced the test. He'd only told Matt and Mello about his being a linguist, but before he outright accused them - even if only in his mind - he had to consider other options.

_There were several people around us who could have overheard,_ he conceded thoughtfully and then grimaced. This really wasn't the time or place for this.

Focusing on the paper in front of him, Harry began writing and then sighed. Some of the questions dealt with the more common tongues – Spanish, French and Italian were featured frequently, and Harry didn't speak any of those languages. There were a few questions in, and about, Latin, though... but nothing more esoteric than that. At the last page however, there was one question that would hopefully explain his lacking answers in his supposed area of expertise: _Which languages do you speak with some fluency?_

_English, Old English (Anglo-Saxon, futhorc), ancient Greek, ancient Egyptian, Latin, Gaelic, Old Norse (futhark), Celtiberian, Gaulish, Cuneiform (script), Sanskrit, Sumerian, modern Arabic and Hindi-Urdu._

Writing down all of them, including those which were only forms of writing rather than spoken word, Harry sat back. Well, he doubted they would be disappointed in that answer, and really, a linguistic test like this wasn't designed for his particular specialization in the language area anyway.

He sailed through **'Astronomy'**, writing detailed answers to all questions and honestly wishing that the section would have been longer than it was. He could have written so much more if he'd had a bit more to work with._ I'm actually enjoying school work,_ Harry thought with half-amused horror. _Hermione would be proud of me._

Turning the page to the very last section of the sheaf of papers, Harry stared blankly at the title. **'Social Intelligence'** didn't have any connotations to other subjects in his mind, and as he looked at the questions - _What does 'It's raining cats and dogs' mean?... Why is a raven like a writing desk?... Where did Yankee Doodle go?... Would you like posh nosh?... Do you believe you have aced this test?... Are any of your friends bad eggs?_ - he grew further confused. Were these trick questions?

Frowning and resisting the urge to look up and see if there was any amusement in any of the auras in the room, Harry slowly began answering the questions. A lot of them were things he'd heard as a child at the Dursely's or in muggle school, or slang some of his Muggleborn friends used, but most of the questions just didn't make sense to him. _How the hell is a raven like a writing desk?_ He finally reached the last question, and with a sigh he turn the last page, gathering all the papers into an orderly pile and turning them over.

Looking up, he saw Anderson was bent over a book at the front desk and cleared his throat to get her attention. Wasn't she supposed to be checking him to ensure he didn't cheat? From her absorbed expression, she would hardly have noticed if he'd brought out an encyclopedia to look up the answers in. _Perhaps that is why the other two are here?_ He resisted the persistent itchy urge to turn around and stare at the frog man.

"Miss Anderson?" he tried instead, and was rewarded by the blond woman jerking up from her book with a guilty expression, blinking at him, before standing up quickly.

"Sorry, dear," she apologized sheepishly and Harry hid a smile. Perhaps the reason she hadn't commented on his wearing pyjamas was because she hadn't really noticed it in the first place.

"What did you think about the test?" she asked, having gathered the papers to balance precariously in her grasp, braced against her stomach. Harry nodded, shrugging, and felt another bout of annoyance coming from the dark-haired man behind him. It was harder this time to resist glaring back at the man. The guy was going to end up causing him another headache if he kept this up!

"Didn't find it too hard, then?" she pressed lightly and Harry looked up only to see small sparks of some emotion flash through her aura, disappearing as soon as he focused on them. _I really need to practise more if I want to get this ability under control,_ Harry thought bemusedly, shaking his head in answer to her question. It hadn't been too hard, not really, and he thought he'd done rather well, all in all.

If they – Wammy or L or whoever ran this place – disagreed, well, what was the worst they could do? Throw him out? He'd managed to get by on his own before he met Christine, so surely he could manage that again.

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**A/N:** Gah, stressed, stressed – but I managed to get this out, finally. And I've also written and posted a DN one-shot. (How do you bend the word 'Legilimens'? Legilimentically doesn't sound quite right, but as it's not a real word in the first place... *shrug*)

Why is Harry allowed to be open with his name, when in canon, the code names were used in the orphanage?: Notice that Harry has only been introduced to the heirs, Wammy and of course, L.

Anyway; what did you think about the chapter? The test? I apologize to all those who thought Harry would... _ace_ the test without a hitch ;)


	10. Mysteries

**Changeling, chapter 10: Mysteries**

"_The thousand _**_mysteries_**_ around us would not trouble but interest us, if only we had cheerful, healthy hearts." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

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Stretching his arms and legs, the boy stood up, leaning on the desk for a moment. Anna didn't move to dismiss him and L silently bit his thumb in frustration, unsure of the proper course of action at this point. The boy was a complete enigma; his actions made little sense in any context and he seemed determined to put as many obstacles as he possibly could in L's path to discovering the mystery surrounding him.

Though of course, that most definitely meant he had something to hide. L's chapped lips stretched into a small smile around his thumb and he bit down on the soft flesh, mentally flipping through different ways to garner the responses he wanted for his inquiries. He needed an inroad.

Certainly, he could begin by introducing himself and welcoming the boy to Wammy's, but L had never cared to observe social niceties and wasn't about to let the boy thrust him into playing host. He'd allowed Hadrian to control enough of their interactions at this point, even if the boy had done so unwittingly.

It was most likely just childish stubbornness that had Hadrian choosing a seat other than the one Anna had shown him to... but seven percent said that the boy could have another reason for the switch. (About 0.6 percent had the boy changing seat out of spite, but L knew that was just his own annoyance talking and thus promptly refused to acknowledge the thought.)

"Hadrian?"

The boy stiffened at his voice and then forcibly relaxed his shoulders, slowly turning around to face him. Finally seeing the boy up close, L wasted no time cataloguing Hadrian's features. His eyes zoned in on the boy's messy fringe, noticing hints of scar tissue between the dark tufts of hair.

A small hand came up to smooth the fringe to the boy's forehead, and L let his eyes wander further down to meet the boy's green eyes. They were very characteristic, so perhaps he could run a check to see if there were any leads on the other side of the law, if he narrowed it down to a boy with bright green eyes. Of course, if Hadrian had been living underground there was a chance he might have been wearing lenses to cover up such an unique feature, but if he had not... L mentally shook his head in annoyance; he could think further on this later.

"Why did you chance seats?" he asked instead without preamble, expecting the blunt question to at least partly throw the boy off balance. A small surge of satisfaction rose in his chest when those green eyes blinked in surprise, Hadrian's lips parting a little before he regained composure.

"Because you were staring at me," the boy said, voice bland but not monotone. It also wasn't a lie, which was interesting. Perhaps Hadrian had an aversion to being the centre of someone's attention, or else the situation as a whole had made him so uncomfortable that the discomfort had been amplified by L's interest in him?

"I see." L nodded but didn't bother excusing himself. He hadn't done anything wrong, no matter that it had discomfited the boy. Hadrian shifted and L realized that he was either waiting to be dismissed or for the conversation to continue. That was not a child's usual way of dealing with an uncomfortable situation. L would not have been surprised had Hadrian simply turned to leave the moment a lull in the conversation appeared, but instead he remained behind.

Either he was very well-mannered, a rather rare thing for the geniuses in the house, or he'd grown up in a place where polite behaviour was expected even from young children. Perhaps a private school? Had the boy been an adult, L could have considered him having previous experience in the Army.

Hm. Perhaps a military academy?

"Who... are you?" The boy finally asked when L made no move to either dismiss him or continue speaking, instead waiting Hadrian out to see if the boy would push the conversation further on his own. That question was a welcome return to the expected and L slowly grinned.

"Erald." Which wasn't a complete untruth. This was what he had potentially interesting children try to figure out. Before the heirs had been decided, L had shown himself to them as either Erald or Danuve, to see if they were curious and resourceful as well as suspicious enough to figure out his identity. He normally wouldn't have appeared in front of a new arrival whose test results he hadn't reviewed, but as they were racing against the clock to find the Red Painter, L was certain that peaking the boy's interest would serve his own interests later.

A child's curiosity wasn't to be underestimated. L himself had been a voracious child when it came to any and all mysteries, and it was one of the earmarks for his heirs. An intelligent but incurious child would never be a suitable potential successor.

Hadrian's eyes narrowed and L's grin widened. Then he turned around to approach Wammy, who was speaking quietly with Anna, both of them leaning over the test papers. As he moved forwards, he watched from the corner of his eye as Hadrian left the room sporting a confused frown, and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the boy. It was a small revenge, but taunting the boy a little made his own frustration more bearable.

"How did he do?" L asked, cocking his head at Wammy. The older man's white eyebrows were raised and he was skimming the pages intently. L could have had Wammy give the test results to him to look through himself, but the older man was very good at split-second judgements and often considered the 'human angle' of different answers in a more empathetic way than L did. L was more for statistics and looking at patterns and deviations thereof. But it was irritating, having the older man's social interaction skills be so far above his own, but L knew that eighty percent of his lacking skills in that area was due to his own stubbornness in refusing to bow to the social norms.

Not that it mattered overly much, as he very rarely bothered to interact with people anyway.

"If he enters the race for the Letters, I think he'll soar to the top in a very short amount of time," Wammy murmured, eyes still intently focused on the page. L flicked his tongue over his lips in thought, examining his feelings about that answer. He found himself to be largely unsurprised and slightly excited at the thought. He was currently more invested in this mystery than most of his open cases.

"Dr. Anderson, your impressions of the boy?" he asked absently, staring out into thin air as he thought.

The woman's lips puckered as she frowned in thought. "Except for his wearing pyjamas, his conduct couldn't be faulted. He seems like a polite boy, very mature." L looked at the useless camera over the assigned seat and couldn't disagree more. In his experience, people who were 'mature' were a lot more easier to manipulate than Hadrian had proven to be. "And he seems reasonably well-adjusted, looking at his **'Social Intelligence'** results. Not as well as Matt and Mello, but much more than Near was when he first arrived."

"What about his language skills?" He'd swelled that part of the test to more than twice its original size, and would be annoyed if it didn't bear fruit. After a moment of flipping through pages, Wammy looked up at him with eyes that were almost amazed and then turned the paper for L to see. L skimmed the page quickly, unsatisfied with all the blanks the boy had left, all the questions he hadn't known the answers to- what was the point of compiling a test for linguists if the boy didn't speak the common languages?

Then he reached the last question.

_Which languages do you speak with some fluency?_

L blinked, paused and reread the answer, slower. His eyes took in the information, but his brain refused to process it as truthful.

"That's not possible," he then said flatly. Several of those languages were extinct, the only people with fluency being either professors or archaeologists. And yet... L's thoughts raced. If the boy could speak even half of those languages... But no, it was too implausible to consider. Who would have taught him? With 95% surety, it would have had to be a group of people, as a single individual speaking all of the languages listed was even more unlikely than Hadrian himself speaking them. And a group of people spending time teaching a pre-pubescent boy extinct languages was a very improbable thought.

_But not impossible_, a small voice in the back of his mind eddied up to the surface.

"We'll have to give him another test, one solely for his alleged language skills." L nodded at Wammy's suggestion, that spark of excitement crackling again inside his chest. What reasons could Hadrian possibly have for lying about something like this? He must have known they'd be able to call him on a bluff of this magnitude. So either the boy wasn't as intelligent as he'd first appeared to be – unlikely, because L's instincts in these cases were very rarely wrong – or Hadrian was even more of a mystery than L had first thought.

L's lips formed a small grin as he nibbled on his sleeve, mind sorting through different professorial contacts he could call in favors from.

"Dr. Anderson, you may leave," he commented absently, he wouldn't have cared if she left or not, but Wammy was shifting in a very pointed way and trying to catch his eye. Obviously, he had something on his mind that he didn't want overheard. The blond woman bobbed her head in a nod, seeming completely unconcerned about his dismissal. Not that L cared about her opinion, but people tended to get annoyed when he didn't tack useless 'please' or 'thank-you's' to sentences.

As the door closed behind her, L fixed the elderly man with a stare. "Did you manage to extract any information from Jensen's biological parents?" L had apparently hit the nail on the head, because with a nod, Wammy sighed.

"I did speak to the couple, yes. Though why we couldn't have waited to do that at a more reasonable time of the day is beyond me." Wammy's lips pursed in disapproval, but L ignored the expression in favor of continued staring. The fact that the Jensens had been roused in the middle of the night wasn't a concern. He doubted that they'd been sleeping at all, considering their daughter's recent murder, no mattered that they hadn't been a family in anything but blood.

"And?" he asked, some impatience he didn't bother hiding leaking in to his voice. Wammy held onto his stern expression for another moment before sighing. Very graciously, L didn't gloat about this small victory.

"I made a few careful inquiries, and they were seemingly completely unaware that their daughter had stricken up any kind of relationship with any child, though they did mention that she 'had a bit of a soft spot for children'."

"And they appeared truthful?" Normally, L would have assumed that they were lying, but he'd already had the niggling feeling that the relationship between Christine Jensen and Hadrian would have been a secret.

"Yes."

L nodded thoughtfully and carefully folded that piece of information away to be scrutinized at a later point. "Did you retrieve the reports from the crime scene?" Hopefully those would have been compiled by now- the Red Painter was every close precinct's top priority at the moment and L expected the police to have collected enough evidence for a preliminary report.

"I did." Wammy handed him a small USB flash drive and then quickly set up the travel laptop he'd brought with him. This room was as secure as any other unused room in the orphanage and L felt no compunctions about conducting his work here. Even if there were cameras in the room, they only fed back to his own control centre and even so, they weren't angled to see the computer screen- L's back would block the view.

It took only a moment for the computer to load and L leaned forward, eyes moving rapidly over the text.

_'...Blood splatter confirms suspect's blood type to be AB... high velocity splatter, as if the suspect was pushed through the window with great force... blood splatter on the floor, from (witness A), concurs with witness's statement...'_

"I'm not altogether too surprised that the poor boy recreated the chain of events to a 'T'," Wammy murmured, leaning over his shoulder. With anyone other than the elderly man, the proximity would have been uncomfortable, but as it was, L just hummed.

Slowly sucking on his tongue, he continued reading. _'...serrated blade... series of horizontal cuts... smeared blood over torso suggests the suspect was interrupted, presumably by the approach of (witness A)...'_

"Well, as much as I wish it were otherwise, Hadrian needs to be interviewed again." Wammy's voice was regretful, and L knew the elderly man was likely feeling guilty about the thought. L didn't, of course, because necessity was necessity, regardless of emotion. He was about to agree and suggest a course of action, when an idea hit him.

"Perhaps it needn't be done in such an obvious way..." he began slowly, tasting the words as he spoke them. "Perhaps one of the heirs-"

Wammy straightened, hand slipping away from L's shoulder. "_L!_ We are not involving one of the children in the investigation!" His tone was sharply reproachful and L looked back at him over his shoulder, tilting his head to rest his cheek on a knee. Wammy had always had a soft spot for children and L had known with almost 100 percent surety that the elderly man would protest.

"They aren't trained enough to be of use in this investigation," that was a small lie, but one that would calm his foster father some, "But the boy is more comfortable speaking with the other children, and asking Matt-" after a quick calculation, Matt seemed like the best choice. Mello was too volatile and Near was too unapproachable. "- to make small inquiries would hurt neither of them, especially as Hadrian will need to speak about the incident either way, if he is to heal from the trauma."

That last bit was more blatant manipulation than he'd normally have used, but it wasn't untrue, and should provide a compassionate enough excuse for Wammy to agree. After several moments of hesitation, the elderly man nodded and L turned back to the screen.

"Professional help will be required as well, of course," he continued in monotone, mentally skimming lists of people who would be available. The one he'd prefer, William, wasn't on the legal side of life- but that was hardly a concern. The man was good at what he did, which was what mattered. He'd been of use before, and L knew the man still owed him enoughthat he would help out at L's request, no questions asked.

William wasn't part of the investigation either, but L could pull some strings and have him listed as a temporary attaché... Biting his thumbnail, L contemplated the next possible moves in the chess game against time, and against the Red Painter. Tried not to let his mind turn to observe the harrying puzzle that was Hadrian from other angles, because as much as he'd have liked to spend more time trying to figure out the boy, he currently had nothing more to go on. It would be a waste of time until more information was available.

"What about his alias? It would be prudent to have one made up for him before he meets any more of the children here. Perhaps you could text Matt and ask him to relay it to the boy?" Wammy suggested and L frowned in annoyance even as he nodded. He'd almost allowed himself to forget that issue- he really should have had a new name to hand the boy when he'd confronted him after the test. The fact that the boy had managed to throw him out of his stride even in this small way was unacceptable.

With a slightly vindictive curl of his lips, L punched in a short message to his red-headed heir. _His alias is to be 'Harry'._ L pressed send with a decisive push of his thumb.

'Harry', to harass: annoy continually or chronically. _How fitting_, L thought.

* * *

**A/N:** L does not have a 'cheerful, healthy heart' ;)

Sorry for the delay; I have a thousand appropriate excuses I could make, but I don't quite see the point. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you for all the lovely reviews- without you guys this chapter would have been delayed even further. I'm sorry for not answering them personally (busytimes are busy), but never doubt that they are my motivation! I reread them whenever I'm stuck ;)

Dedicated to **mabidiso**, **Duchessa** and **Wingwyrm**, who for various reasons got me to finish this chapter.

Edited some things that apparently didn't make sense to anyone but me. I apologize for the misunderstandings, I should have been clearer.

Tell me what you thought?


	11. Recognition

**Changeling, chapter 11: Recognition**

"___A taste for ____**irony**____ has kept more hearts from breaking than a sense of humor, for ____**it takes irony to**__** appreciate the joke which is on oneself**__" - Jessamyn West_

* * *

"Eat, brat." Mello shoved the half-eaten sandwich Harry had left in his room under his nose. Harry blinked at the piece of bread, unable to remember handing it to the blond teen when he'd left for the test. He rubbed up and down his arms, feeling vaguely unsettled by the whole test-business. Who was that Erald person? Harry had to resist the urge to turn around and reassure himself that the frog-like man hadn't followed him out the door, despite knowing that he'd left him and the room's other occupants behind.

He still had to forcibly stop himself from shuddering.

"That bad?"

Harry glared up (and how the height difference galled!) at Mello, who was half-smirking and attempting to push the sandwich into his chest, probably smearing butter all over his shirt. Harry snatched it out of the teen's hand. "It was fine," he bit out, staring down at the unappealing bread and wondering if it'd seem terribly suspicious to ask to leave. It probably would. Stupid geniuses.

He looked back up again, noticing the distinct lack of albino boy in the hallway. A few blank puzzle pieces were scattered across the floor, like the puzzle had been thrown into the wall and the pieces scattered every which way.

"So 'fine' you look like you're about to throw a bitch fit." Harry could hear the smirk grow in Mello's voice and glared harder at the boy. The look in his eyes... it was like the teen knew the reason for his discomfort and found it terribly amusing. It was hard to say for sure though, because Harry was trying to avoid looking too deeply into the colors floating about the blond boy's body. He didn't need aura vision to tell that Mello was amused, but that was all he could discern with certainty.

"How did it go?" Matt's voice interrupted, the question very mild, and Harry felt the spooked anger recede. It was hard to stay angry in the face of Matt's honestly sympathetic expression, no matter how good it would feel to snap at the other boy.

Considering the question, Harry felt a wash of tentative satisfaction. "Pretty well, I think." He hadn't been able to answer everything, but he hadn't done that badly, especially considering his lack of a muggle education.

"Cool," Matt said with a smile. Harry pointedly ignored the roll of Mello's eyes and let himself smile back.

"So, what do you say we hit the seamstress?" the blond teen suggested after a beat of silence. Harry wasn't sure if Mello just wasn't curious enough to ask more about his test results, or if he was just trying to be tactful. Though as Harry seriously doubted the blond had even one tactful bone in his body, he figured it was more likely that Mello just wasn't all that interested. Or, the paranoid part of him spoke up, the teen wanted to find a more secluded place to ask invasive questions.

Then Mello's actual words registered. "What?" Harry blinked, startled. _Hit_ who? The _seamstress_? He remembered Mello - or maybe it had been Matt - mentioning a seamstress, but he didn't even know who the woman was, let alone bear a grudge against her!

"I don't care for violence," he settled for, wondering why Mello would suggest that to him in the first place. It wasn't like he looked like he'd be very useful a back-up, with his thin and small child's body. Though that just went to prove how you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, as Hermione always used to say.

Mello blinked back at him, appearing to have been temporarily thrown off his stride. Harry wasn't sure why that statement should surprise him, because he couldn't imagine that he looked like much of an experienced fighter. Ironically. "The fuck are you talking about, brat?"

"I'm not hitting anyone," he dead-panned and Mello stared at him in silence for a very long second. His eyes were very piercing, a part of Harry noticed uncomfortably. Potentially dangerous eyes. Then the blond snorted, the sound like a cat spitting.

Suddenly he was speaking fast, eyes narrowed in a sharper kind of amusement. "You've got to be kidding me! Didn't think anyone but that albino bastard was that backwards-" his voice was incredulous and it immediately disturbed Harry. There was a tinge of almost gleeful cruelty in his tone, like a small child ripping the wings of a fly just for fun.

"Mello!" Matt interrupted his friend, leaning to the side and slapping his shoulder with a loud _twack_. Surprisingly, Mello shut his mouth, teeth clacking together and Harry watched him warily, waiting for the explosion he felt was sure to follow.

"Urgh. Whatever." The blond rolled his eyes and tossed his head back with a negligent wave of his hand, as if trying to swat an annoying bug away from his face. Harry carefully observed the two teens, head tilted down so that his fringe fell over his eyes, but said nothing. He did make a mental note to be more on his guard around Mello though, because that tone of voice had set warning bells ringing in the back of his head.

Matt adjusted the goggles on his head and glared at his friend. "What Mello meant was that we might as well head down to see the seamstress, because classes won't begin for a while yet. You need proper clothes." Harry wasn't quite sure that was at all what Mello had meant and showed his opinion of this unsubtle misdirection by arching both eyebrows.

"That's fine, I guess," he said when neither of the two commented on his expression. Matt nodded, and herding Mello in front of him with expertly movements, he led the way to the seamstress.

* * *

Matt's cellphone beeped, and he turned from his discreet observation of the youngest member of their little group to fish it up from his trouser pocket, completely without breaking pace. Mello had a tendency to use the smallest pockets of time to spin some sneaky manipulations and he wanted to keep the peace for as long as he could. The kid didn't need any more pressure; his situation was screwed-up enough as it was.

Continuing to half-push Mello forward while simultaneously keeping an eye on Hadrian and checking his phone, Matt allowed himself a moment of pride in his multitasking abilities. Being friends with someone as wily as the blond teen required the ability to do several things at once, not only because Mello himself had a tendency to become distracted from what he was originally doing by whatever interesting new ideas that popped into his head. Usually to Matt's sanity's detriment.

The fact that the other teen wasn't shrugging Matt's hand away from his back made several of the redhead's internal Mello-alarms blare in warning, because a quiet Mello was a plotting Mello. Keeping half an eye firmly locked onto the back of his friend's head, Matt glanced down at his phone.

_His alias is to be 'Harry'._

It took Matt less than half a second to shift gears from worries about oncoming Mello-implemented plots to L. Then he sighed. It wasn't no wonder that the detective had chosen someone like Mello as one of his Heirs, when L himself could be this petty. It was almost a little amusing.

"Hadrian, your alias has been decided," Matt said, lips slowly twitching upwards. Sometimes he felt like the only person in this house who actually acted his age. Everybody else either acted too old or too young for their biological age.

The dark-haired boy glanced back at him, steps slowing. Matt smiled at him and watched the creases creating waves over his forehead smooth. He didn't want the kid to misunderstand his amusement, not after Mello's little show of brattiness.

When Hadrian's attention was firmly on him, he spoke. "Your new name will be 'Harry'-" with a mental curse, Matt interrupted himself mid-sentence to move at the same time Mello turned, catching the back of Hadrian's shirt in a fist before the boy fell from his abrupt stumble.

"Jesus Christ brat, chose a better time to trip!" Mello bit out, arm flung around the boy's chest to keep him from tilting forwards over the top of the stairs. They carefully drew him backwards to a less precarious position and Matt felt his heart crawl down from his throat back to his chest.

"Sorry." The boy shrugged their hands off him with an uncomfortable movement and righted himself. His face was turned downwards and Matt wondered what had just happened. Because that was clearly not a stumble born from normal childhood clumsiness.

Mello tilted his head, the light glinting metallic in his eyes, and pointedly smirked. Matt knew that smirk and prepared to intervene if – 'when', really – things took a turn for the worse.

"So. You know a 'Harry' from before?" And of course, being Mello, the blond went right for the kill. Matt felt the back of his eyes warm with the beginnings of a headache, and reached up to rub at his temple. Hadrian – who he'd now have to remember to call 'Harry' – looked up at the blond with the strangest expression Matt had seen yet on the boy' face.

It was nearly unreadable, even to someone as good at reading expressions as he was, if only because it flickered between different emotions very quickly. Matt thought he saw incredulity, suspicion and shock, but he couldn't be sure. What he did know, or could guess at, was that whoever this 'Harry' person was, he'd either been or was still, very important to Hadrian. Too much emotional response from the boy for him not to be.

Hadrian breathed out slowly, the breath rushed. "Yeah. From before." The mix of expressions was replaced by an absent look, eyes turned inward, and Matt wondered if this 'Harry' had been held precious or feared by the boy.

"What a coincidence..." Hadrian muttered quietly and Matt considered telling the kid that L had probably just chosen the alias out of spite, held the words back because he couldn't be _entirely_ sure of that. Maybe L had known that Hadrian had a connection to someone named 'Harry' in the past, and was trying to bring forth a particular reaction. Or just rattle the boy.

Matt wouldn't put it past him, but before he could decide whether to comment on it, they were walking again. Or rather, Hadrian had started forwards and and Mello was keeping himself ahead of the boy to stare at him.

"Or not," the blond said, obviously entertaining at least some of the same ideas Matt had been, and just as obviously using them to prod the boy. His friend had always been the kind of person who'd do just that, for no other reason than to watch the other person squirm.

Hadrian's head jerked around, and he stared at Mello with eyes that for a brief moment looked murky with emotion. Mello smirked; Matt decided it was time to intervene and smacked the back of the blond's head. Mello could definitely have stopped the light blow from landing though, but for whatever reasons he chose not to.

Matt's eyes lingered on the blond for a moment before he bent down to Hadrian's level. "It's nothing to worry about, Harry," he murmured, registering but not reacting at the way the boy twitched at the use of his new moniker. "L just picks a name out of thin air. Sometimes more boring names, like mine-" he explained lightly, trying to keep his voice soothing without dipping down into condescension. Being condescending in a house full of geniuses was just setting yourself up for a lesson in humility.

"-and sometimes fucking awesome names, like mine," Mello finished with a cat-like grin. The blond had always been very fond of his alias, no matter that it really didn't fit his disposition. But then, Mello liked contradictions. Long blond hair and silver rose earrings with leather and stainless steel studs. Explicit curses interspersed with words most people would have to look up in a thesaurus. Mello was a walking contradiction and in almost everything he did, that shone through.

The air remained tense for a moment. "I suppose mine would be one of the boring names, then?" Hadrian said, voice a little dry. His eyes remained turned away, forehead creased.

"Yeah," the blond snorted. "Seriously, 'Harry'? No creativity in a nick like that."

Hadrian stared at Mello, green eyes blank. Matt started to reassure the boy that it was a perfectly good name – because children could be sensitive about such blatant baiting, which he'd make _sure_ to remind Mello of later – and almost jumped when the boy then started laughing, hands on his knees and body shaking. The sudden laughter didn't fit with the profile Matt had started forming of the boy, and he blinked a little as his impressions tumbled sideways.

"I think it's just fine," Hadrian finally concluded, voice a little breathless and green eyes now bright with mirth. Matt took a brief second to wonder if he was befriending another troublemaker, because that amusement was definitely standing on a mischievous base. The boy snorted. "In fact, I think it suits me."

"Whatever," Mello said, though his eyes were narrowed in thought.

They finally ended up in front of a large pink door on the ground floor, one Matt hadn't shown Hadrian during the tour. Mello sneered at the painted flowers covering one side of the door, and for once Matt couldn't blame him for his rudeness. There was something almost creepy about the way the door was so cheerfully bright.

"Stork's bill," Hadrian suddenly spoke up, leaning in between him and Mello to trail fingers over the five-petalled purple flowers closest to the door handle. The blond turned to look down at him, brows arched.

"You know flowers, brat?" He wasn't actually sneering any more, but rather looked like he'd found an interesting new piece of a puzzle. Matt desperately hoped Mello wasn't about to turn Hadrian's every comment into some kind of personal intelligence gathering mission. That wouldn't be fair to the kid. Not that his friend had ever been very good at playing fair.

Hadrian sighed, the slow trailing movements of his fingers becoming absent. "Only the useful ones. And stop calling me 'brat'." There was a sudden snap to the boy's voice that Matt was glad to hear. Mello could trample over people without even really meaning to if they didn't assert themselves.

"All flowers have their uses, boy. Haven't you heard of 'art for art's sake'?" Martha Seamstress, whose last name Matt had never been able to find, stepped out of a smaller doorway to the left of their little group. Hadrian was the only one who didn't jump at her sudden appearance, but instead stiffened and then slowly cocked his head to the side. With his lips pursed like that he looked the epitome of a precocious child, though Matt couldn't fault him for being momentarily taken back by the way she looked.

A large ankle-length blue skirt fanned out from her hips, creasing lightly where she had her glove-covered hands pressed against her hipbones. Several pearl necklaces hung from her neck, dangling over the front of her white blouse. Pearls were also in her ears, as well as her hair in the form of a hairpin holding the large bun at the nape of her neck in place.

All in all, she looked like she'd stepped out of a women's magazine from the fifties. Though admittedly, looking at her white hair and the many wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth, the fifties was probably happening a few decades after her birth.

"No, but I can guess what that means." Hadrian finally said, voice almost hushed. Matt glanced at him in concern, but couldn't see the boy's eyes for the bangs obscuring most of his upper face.

"Hm." She scrutinized him for a moment, looking every inch the stern grandmother, before her gaze expanded to include them all. "Well boys, if you want something now, you'll have to be quick about it." She plucked a small folded note from a pocket and waved it in their direction. "I was just about to hang this up on the door. Haven't had breakfast yet, don't you know, what with all the people running in and out from the early morning hours." She attached it decisively to the door with blu-tack, harrumphing when she stepped back to face them again. Matt smiled weakly, and ignored Mello snorting beside him.

"It'll only take a few minutes." Matt glanced at Hadrian in wearing his pyjamas, who still staring at the seamstress.

Martha peered down at him, nodding. "Ah, yes. The new-"

"What's your last name?" Hadrian suddenly interrupted, voice still strangely hushed. Matt saw Mello's eyebrows arch, and agreed with the surprise. The interruption seemed a bit out of character, as much as the sudden burst of hilarity from before.

Martha's eyebrows rose as well. "I beg your pardon?" Before Hadrian could repeat the question, she shook her head. "That is hardly any of your business, young man. You must have noticed how careful we are with names here." Her voice was firm without sharpening the way caretaker Augusta's always did, but Hadrian still jerked a little.

Mello tilted his head, eyes narrowing again and Matt quickly decided to forestall anything his friend might want to say.

"Ah, since he's only just arrived-" He interrupted himself and went for the most obvious distraction for a seamstress dedicated to her work. "Anyway, he needs clothes!" He gestured over at Hadrian's, indicating the loose pyjama pants and shirt he was wearing.

Martha looked down at them, though Matt wasn't sure on whom her gaze rested this time, and then nodded soberly. "So he does." She didn't ask why he was dressed in pyjamas, but invited them all into the room behind the pink door. Hadrian spent a long moment with his eyes boring into the back of her head before following.

Matt wasn't sure if she truly didn't notice the drill-like stare or if she was deliberately ignoring it for reasons of her own.

* * *

**A/N:** I know it's been awhile, and I am sorry for keeping you waiting. They pile up a lot of school-work right before the holidays. But I should be able to write more once the summer hols comes around, knock on wood. In addition to the Legion of Homework, my computer blacks out about ten times a day (apparently due to overheating?), and I can't afford a new one at the moment. Kind of nerve-wrecking when I'm in the middle of writing, so I've taken to pressing 'save' after every sentence.

Thanks to all reviewers (they are still what motivates me, you guys. Seriously, thank you!) and PM's. Wish I had the time to respond to all of them.

Tell me what you thought of the chapter?

(Also, for any readers of "Teacher"- the fic is not dead. The next chapter is almost entirely written, I'm just unsure of how to write the bridge between two particular scenes.)


	12. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Changeling, chapter 12: For Whom The Bell Tolls**

"_When things are going like clockwork, you find yourself waiting for an **alarm to ring**." - Anonymous_

* * *

Mello smirked down at the uncomfortable way the brat was twisting his new shirt. Mello had been the one to choose that one, though it had taken some badgering. Well worth it, in his opinion. Thought none were as bad as Near, in general the stupid fucks who ran about this place had no taste for interesting clothes. Pity that. They'd benefit from more fun clothes in their otherwise sheltered, sad little lives.

"You're going to wrinkle it," he finally commented, staring down at the brat with a smirk. Hadrian glared up at him through his bangs and Mello felt his smirk widen. Ha, but this kid was fun. He acted old before his time in the way most kids in here did, but there was still fucking _life_ in this one. And the Lord knew this little prison of an orphanage needed more of that. Plus there was something about this one that had something inside Mello - the street kid he no longer was - perk up and take notice. And that took some doing.

He was curious. The monotony had been eating at him, together with the annoyance (_rage_fucking_rage_) at the previous test rounds results. He'd spent most of the week reviewing his answers and comparing them to- But that didn't fucking matter at this point. Past was past and all that shit.

"Why do I have to wear this?" The boy waved a hand over the front of the shirt, glaring down at the skull-pattern, and Mello snorted. Trust the kid, for all his mystery, to be a complete idiot when it came to clothing himself.

Mello would have shared a commiserating look with Matt, had the red-head not bailed to go talk to "one of the caretakers". Though of course that excuse was complete bullshit, and Mello knew that Matt knew that Mello was aware of that. There was only one person Matt would duck away to "talk" - aka _report_ – to after reading a text, and it sure as hell wasn't a caretaker. Only one person around anyone here ever reported to, really. But Mello knew to keep mum- everyone in this damn house did.

When you came right down to it, Wammy's wasn't much different from the streets.

Mello rolled his eyes. "Jesus, stop complaining. Would you have preferred the biddy's choices? Paisley and flowers and all that shit?" He wasn't sure if the seamstress had intentionally picked out the most Godawful patterns as some kind of twisted push-and-pull test for the boy, but even he wasn't cruel enough to keep quiet about the sheer ugliness of the garments. Really, the brat ought to be grateful for Mello's interference, or he'd have ended up setting the record for misfit clothes in the house with his new grandma-style.

But perhaps he'd just wanted to suck up to the old woman? Mello couldn't imagine why, because it wasn't like seamstress Martha was at all famous. She's been in Wammy's employ practically forever- or so said the files Matt had hacked in a fit of curiosity about the adults living here. But perhaps the information had been inaccurate? It wasn't like those files couldn't be forged... and Mello hadn't missed the fact that the brat had only asked for the seamstress _last_ name. Or that he'd recognized the flower on her door. He wasn't quite paranoid, or suspicious, enough to call it a sign, but there was _something_ there, all right.

Hadrian hesitated, and the clear victory in Mello's favor jerked him away from his musings. "That wasn't all seamstress Martha had to offer," the brat muttered, but there wasn't enough heat in the words to light even a matchstick.

Mello rolled his eyes. "No, but you were about to accept whatever she threw at you! Tch, have you no pride?"

The kid threw up his arms in a gesture that would have been more impressive if he'd had a few more years on him. "I don't care about clothes!"

Mello's eyebrows rose. "Then why the beef with the shirt I picked?" The brat had walked straight into that one.

Hadrian's mouth shut with a click and he fingered the skull pattern in silence, but wasn't wearing the look of one conceding defeat. He was slipping away from the question for some reason.

"It's a stupid pattern," was the low response, delivered in a flat whispery tone that was a throw-back to how he'd sounded when Matt had first introduced him. Mello debated calling the boy on his BS, but was distracted when he saw a familiar pony-tailed tuft of blond hair bobbing in their direction. Ah, there was one of the brats he could actually stand. Not that Linda was that much younger than him, but whatever. Age was life experience, not years since birth.

"Mello, hello," Linda said, coming to an abrupt stop when their eyes met. She blinked in apparent surprise, shifting the over-sized canvas under an arm and pushing a lock of her long blond hair behind an ear. Mello grinned at her, the corners of his lips curling higher at the look of wariness she adopted. She'd known him for a long time, so receiving that expression as a response was no surprise.

"Off to the studio?"

"Yes. The gallery requested a piece and-" she spoke quickly, eyes darting down to Hadrian in every pause, and Mello smirked. He didn't fucking care that some gallery wanted one of her paintings, he wanted her to ask about the brat. Linda was good with kids, had 'maternal instinct' or some shit. At least, that's what Matt said and Mello was inclined to believe him, the redhead being such a people person and all.

Linda never did ask about the boy, though. Instead, the brat himself was the one to speak up, after throwing Mello an annoyed glance. The introductions went smoothly, boringly, well and Mello filed away the thought that the kid apparently knew a bit about painting. At least he assumed so, from Linda's surprise at Hadrian's questions.

"Do you paint, Harry?" she asked, using the alias Hadrian had surprisingly remembered to give. Mello had half-expected the boy to forget, because it always took the fucking brats a while to remember their new names. Except for this one, apparently. He suspected it was because the name 'Harry' had belonged to someone the brat had known, as shown by his reaction when the alias was first presented, but Mello obviously couldn't be sure. He'd find out, though. He always did, one way or other.

"No, but..." Hadrian shifted and Mello looked down at him from the corner of his eyes, projecting disinterest and impatience. Sounded like the boy was prepping for a lie. "We talked a bit about... portrait painting. In school." That wasn't an outright lie, Mello could tell. But it sure as hell wasn't anywhere near the full truth either. Not that he'd expected that from this little riddle.

Mello was about to herd the boy along, because otherwise they'd be stuck here while Linda worked herself up to a rant about some stupid shit like the difference between purple and lavender, but for once the universe conspired with rather than against him.

The fire alarm went off.

Linda blinked up at the beeping sound and Hadrian stiffened, knees cocking. Mello gave the boy a longish stare, wondering if that was ingrained behaviour and what it meant, before grabbing him by the shoulder to push him forwards. The way to the emergency exits lit up with tiny blue lights- not that those were really needed, considering that all they really had to do was follow the sound of the stampeding feet belonging to the herd of wild animals masquerading as kids as they tumbled down stairs and out of classrooms.

"What's happening?" Hadrian's voice was a tense whisper, and he was starting to fight Mello's hold on his shoulder. Mello rolled his eyes- really, couldn't the brat guess what was going on? Fire alarms sounded the same no matter where you went and as far as he knew, all schools had these stupid fucking drills.

"We're to get to one of the exits before we're burned alive, brat." He rolled his eyes even though the boy couldn't see it, but then had to stop when Hadrian dug his heels in, twisting around to stare at him. The boy's eyes were wide and his face was an alarming shade of white. Out of nowhere, a plastic vase on a buffet to their right clattered to the ground, the flowers therein scattering on the floor.

"_What?"_

Mello blinked at the tense whisper, distracted from the falling vase. Brow furrowing, he realized that the kid looked seriously afraid. That was weird- and interesting. Mello might have prodded him about it had the stupid alarms not been blaring so loudly, but as it was he quickly explained about the drills and what they were supposed to do. Linda had already moved on and the sound of feet against the floors were growing fainter. At this rate, they'd be the last ones out.

"Oh." When it looked like the brat wasn't going to move even after his face regained some colour, Mello pushed him forward again. This time Hadrian didn't resist, instead he went with the movement and ran at Mello's own pace along the corridor. Mello threw him a glance as they progressed towards the exit, but didn't comment on how easily the brat just melded with Mello's own movements, like Hadrian was used to adjusting his gait to other peoples'.

The air swooped in through the open door, chilly and biting, and Mello grunted in irritation at how his leather jacked really didn't keep the wind out as it should. Fucking overpriced thing, it was. He glared around at the milling kids, keeping an eye on Hadrian even as he fished up a small piece of chocolate from his pocket. The brat looked even colder than Mello felt, which mellowed some of his annoyance. That and the chocolate.

"How long do we have to-" Hadrian started, winding arms around himself and looking almost pathetically small. It made something in Mello itch, but he ignored whatever urge was bubbling under his skin and sucked on the chocolate. Stupid kid looked like a duckling trying to burr down into its own feathers.

"-stand around here doing nothing while the Brat Brigade work themselves into a fit?" Mello finished, licking the tangy after-taste from his lips. It was a bit too late to worry about the brats throwing fits though, because a lot of them were already yelling and crying like it was going out of style.

He glanced down at Hadrian, whose brow was creased as he observed the others. He didn't seem the least inclined to join them in their noise-making, and Mello was vaguely grateful for that. He was also further intrigued, considering Hadrian's previous Caspar impression. The silence was another clue in the puzzle that was Wammy's newest genius addition, because none of the many quiet kids here were quiet quite like this. Maybe the brat had been a street-kid? There was something in Mello that just howled in recognition at certain movements the boy made, the way he cast his eyes about... The way he kept quiet.

"It shouldn't be long now," Mello said, keeping his thoughts from showing on his face and grinning down Hadrian when the brat looked up. Hadrian frowned again, throwing his gaze up and around Mello's head and shoulders in that way he'd had seen the kid do with pretty much everyone they ran into. The caretakers had started herding people together into smaller groups, and without waiting for further acknowledgement, Mello started moving towards them, ignoring the brat's idiosyncrasies for the moment. They'd want to do a headcount before letting them back in.

"Do you do these drills often?" Hadrian asked from behind him and Mello shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "It seems like it causes a lot of upset." Mello shrugged again, not particularly worried about that. The brats needed their safe, routine, boring lives shook up. The Lord knew how many of them would just lock themselves up in the race for the Letters otherwise.

Though it was a bit annoying, having to watch the youngest kids shriek and snivel as they dribbled snot and saliva all over themselves. And occasionally each other.

"They upset themselves by other means either way," a soft voice said from further behind. Mello twitched and carefully kept his hands from fisting. That fucking monotone voice was like one of those tiny fish bones that ended up scraping the back of his throat when he ate salmon too quickly. Mello had once heard Linda describe Near as 'living in monochrome' and that description was so fucking apt he should have thought of it himself. But yeah, trust a painter to describe people in terms of colour.

"But not like this..." Hadrian trailed off, tone uncomfortable, and Mello wondered if Near was giving him that creepy dead-fish stare or if he was making the brat uncomfortable just standing there. Mello wouldn't blame Hadrian if that was the case.

"Perhaps not." Near didn't particularly sound like he was agreeing or even like he was interested in the topic, but that was the normal state of things with that little freak. He'd probably give himself a heart attack should he ever accidentally let slip any kind of inflection.

"All right, children!" Huan's voice cut through the din, strong and sure. "The group closest to the entrance may proceed in..." Mello tuned out as the brats started moving, in much less of a 'orderly fashion' than Huan had asked for.

"It is somewhat strange," Near's low voice reached Mello's ears even easier than Huan's, no matter how low he spoke. It always did, like Mello was constantly tuned in to the fucking Monochrome Channel or something.

"What is?" Hadrian asked, and by the muffled huffing sound of the words, his mouth was occupied with blowing warm air into his hands.

"These drills are usually at one-month intervals." Near paused and half a second later Mello's breathing stuttered, because damn the little bastard to the lowest circle of Hell, _Mello hadn't realized that discrepancy_. This time he couldn't stop himself from forming fists, because he should have noticed that himself. An obvious break in the set pattern should have stood out like a sore thumb, he shouldn't even have had to think about it-

"Always?" Hadrian asked, sounding like he was frowning again.

"The drills? Yes." Mello wasn't sure how he could tell that Near didn't believe this was a drill. Perhaps it was only his own (_second-best_) brain finally catching up and unconsciously forming theories, or perhaps it was that he knew the paths the white-haired midget robot's mind travelled, but Mello knew that Near thought this occurrence odd enough to sit up and take notice.

And if that wasn't a fucking challenge, Mello didn't know what was.

* * *

Matt tried very hard not to roll his eyes in the face of L's blatant stare. He was way too used to Mello's mini-mafia eye-drill routine and Near's walleyed gaze to feel very discomfited. Even more so since his annoyance with L's little mission fed his resistance to the detective's chosen method of interrogation. There was only so much he could report after such a short time with the boy, and Matt hadn't had much motivation to try to dissect Hadrian's behaviour the way Mello and L was apparently so eager to.

"I don't _know_ if he knows anyone named Harry, or if the reaction was even really because of that," he repeated, enunciating carefully and staring right back at the master detective.

"But you can infer-" There was a frustrated, strident tinge to L's words and Matt sighed internally. Why were so many geniuses like dogs with bones? Was stubbornness one of the secret requirements of a Wammy's House membership?

"A whole lot of things, really," he interrupted, tone as polite as he could make it. L didn't like being interrupted, but Matt had been stuck in here for over an hour now, leaving Hadrian alone with his maniac of a best friend. He had different horror scenarios running vividly in the back of his mind, and every intention to get to the pair before any of them came true in any respect.

People said you should be able to trust your friends, or they weren't really friends at all. Those lucky bastards obviously never had friends even remotely similar to Mello. Having Mello like you was, in Matt's opinion, better than having him dislike you, but the difference in his behaviour around people he liked and people he didn't wasn't as large as it was for most others.

"Why are you refusing to confirm you own belief in this?" L's voice was back to flat-as-a-flat-lining-heart-monitor and Matt wanted to bemoan the fact that the detective was as much of a genius as he was. Most people wouldn't have been able to guess Matt's own opinions in this case.

"Because I don't know for sure," he said, which was at least half-true.

The right corner of L's thin lips lifted. Just like a lot of the geniuses in this house, he hadn't quite managed to master the art of Normal Human Expressions, and Matt pitied the people outside the house L smiled to in this manner.

"But you can make a guess."

"_If_ the reason Hadrian reacted the way he did was due to the alias you decided on, then yes, I'd guess it's because he knows or knew someone with that name." Matt paused, staring up at the ceiling, "Of course, this is only assuming that his reaction can be attributed to learning the alias, and that this reaction means the alias is important somehow. It could just be the name of a past pet. Or a teddy." Sometimes the only way to get through the thick heads of stubborn geniuses was repeating yourself, over and over again with different wordings. Kind of like how you had to with small children.

"Or it could be more than that. Which is what you believe." Damn the guy for being right. Matt wasn't even sure _why_ he believed it - the kid's sudden laughter? Even if he believed the hilarity was both an essential clue to something _and_ in direct response to the alias, that still didn't mean he had to conclude that the alias itself was of special import to Hadrian. Not when he didn't know for sure that the laughter actually was important. It could be arbitrary.

Matt sighed and pushed the hair from his forehead, the pads of his thumbs tapping absently against the sides of his index fingers. "It's one hell of a logical leap to make." But not a completely irrational one. Unfortunately. Matt couldn't quite hide the resigned concession in his voice.

The corner of L's lips hitched up a bit more. He sucked on a strangely-shaped pink lollipop in a way that was distinctly triumphant, and Matt tempered his annoyance with strength born from many clashes with persons of similar dispositions.

"And his reaction to the showers?" Truly like a dog with a bone. Or a vulture with a carcass.

"...Again, _I don't know_." But he did have a gut feeling about that, which, from the look of interest in L's dark eyes, the detective had immediately picked up on. And this guy was supposed to be bad at reading people. Sometimes Matt wondered if it wasn't so much that L was bad at it, as it was the detective simply refusing to read normal reasons for people's expressions. Always seeing zebras instead of horses.

But who knew? Matt hadn't spent enough time around the detective to make an educated guess. (And again, he couldn't help but wonder if that was actually _planned_. But perhaps that thought was just Mello's paranoia infecting him.)

"But?"

"I read clear discomfort, but I can't be sure if that was due to the suggested presence of other people or communal showers in general..." Matt paused to gather his thoughts.

"You suspect mysohobia?"

Matt shook his head. "No, I saw no accompanying signs of OCD." Hadrian hadn't hesitated when touching the clothes seamstress Martha had handed him, and hadn't asked about the bathroom sinks or wet tissues, so Matt doubted the boy was afraid of germs. But it wasn't a completely unreasonable guess to make, since Hadrian wouldn't be the first in this house with that particular phobia. Or a phobia at all.

"Then, the proximity of the other children?"

After a moment's hesitation, Matt nodded. He'd sensed more of that- and it made sense, since Hadrian had shown relief specifically at finding out there were shower stalls with shower curtains.

"The proximity on its own, or aphephobia?"

Matt wanted to glare at the annoying detective, but it was somehow too much effort. He wasn't _sure_ if Hadrian's reaction to the showers was due to a fear of being touched, and L _knew _that.

Of course, he could also tell where Matt's suspicions leaned. "I don't know, but he seemed uncomfortable yesterday when we were eating..." Matt trailed off, remembering how Hadrian had flinched when Matt had approached him just after mentioning the shower room. But perhaps the flinch hadn't been so much because of a fear of Matt's closeness as it had been about the showers. But then, if those two things were actually related, or the fear of the showers was actually only due to a fear of touch or proximity, it could have been either and he'd have to come to the same conclusion...

Matt mentally shook his head. It was too much conjecture based on too little actual evidence. There was a shower session set for the younger kids this evening, and usually one of the older kids were recruited to help the caretakers keep the unruly younger ones in line, so perhaps -

"You could supervise the shower session," L said, all absent calm, and Matt held back a twitch of unease only because he knew that the man wasn't the world's best detective for nothing. L wasn't actually a mind reader. Still, it was pretty damn creepy how he could seemingly just draw thoughts out of people's heads like that.

It didn't really matter that Matt knew the only reason it was so creepy was because he didn't react to all the times L _didn't_ do the eerie mind-reading thing, but easily remembered the – upon careful reflection - few times L had. That rational thought should have been more reassuring than it was, but with L's unblinking eyes and the way he chomped the head off a big green gummy bear, it really wasn't.

"I could," he said instead, shaking off the discomfort with the ease that came from previous, repeated, exposure. He could have argued about it, but he wasn't like Mello, who argued for the sake of arguing. Plus, Matt was curious. And admittedly, a little worried. Mello liked to say his soft heart would get him killed one day, but Matt thought at least one of the heirs should see the glass half-full instead of half-empty.

Not that he blamed Mello or Near - or even L - for their cynical world views, but they were enough of a Dysfunction Junction without him joining the choir.

"I have set up a meeting with William," L said, like he had noticed Matt's worry, and Matt raised both eyebrows in surprise. For all the detective's genius, L really wasn't a very sympathetic person. Thus Wammy's tag-along procedure whenever L decided to interrogate a witness or a victim. Matt suspected that was one of those things the detective would just never truly get, no matter how good he was at observing humans and human behaviour.

In Matt's opinion, that was probably due to the fact that L was focused almost exclusively on _criminal_ behaviour. All the Wammy's kids were specialized though, so the somewhat narrow focus wasn't much of a surprise. Even geniuses couldn't learn everything. Jack of all trades meant master of none, right?

"When?" William was a good psychiatrist, even though Matt had found no references to anyone by his name or description in any Psychiatric Association's database in any English-speaking country when he'd tried to research the man. But then, Matt had a sneaking suspicion L didn't really care too much about legalities when he was the one in need of something. He was too much Mello's friend to be too bothered about that, and Matt wasn't sure what that said about him.

"In a few days." L frowned and tapped the side of a cookie to the desktop, shaking loose a small rain of sugar.

"Wammy suggested that he should be allowed to settle in first." Matt thought the grimace on the world's best detective's face might actually have been a pout, and thus studiously ignored it. He respected this man, but occasionally he forgot why he did so. And L wasn't really making it any easier for him to remember.

"That might be for the best," Matt conceded and kept the smirk well hidden when L threw him a sour glance. He tilted his head to the side in thought, deciding to change the subject with less tact than he usually would. L would just see through any attempts at subtlety anyway. Plus he had a way of looking so smug afterwards it made even Matt, who was the saint (or perhaps martyr) to Mello's demon, want to clock him. "What about the Painter?"

L shot him another glare, but Matt just waited. "A hair has been found," he said with the air of someone granting a great favour. Matt valiantly resisted rolling his eyes at the detective and let himself be intrigued. This was, as far as Matt knew, the first concrete lead anyone had managed to collect from any of the Painter's crime scenes. As he wasn't actually involved in this case, Matt didn't know many details the police hadn't parted with willingly. And because L lead the investigation, he couldn't just hack the police databases – L had had someone slap layers upon layers of protections around the relevant files. Someone very good.

"And?"

"Still waiting for results." Which meant L had, reluctantly, sent the hair away for testing. Matt had a feeling it was only due to Wammy's urging, as L had never been very impressed by any forensic specialists not of his own choosing. But sometimes you had to play along with people and not just bulldoze them, no matter how inconvenient it was – which was something L, Near and Mello all still needed to learn. Sometimes compromises had to be made.

Matt opened his mouth to ask how long they'd have to wait for results. Because if L was being cooperative, then Matt was going to take advantage of that. It would both still that itch of curiosity he had about the case, and potentially be useful in regards to Hadrian's behaviour. He didn't know how much the kid had told L and Wammy, but he'd bet Hadrian hadn't said everything there was to tell.

But then the beeping started. Loud, blaring alarms that Matt knew signified a fire drill. He glared up at the ceiling, lips curling in annoyance. Talk about inconvenient interruption.

"Wammy, are you hearing this?"

Matt's gaze snapped back to L's face, surprised at the tightness in the detective's voice, to find the dark eyes widened with concentration and the pad of a thumb between L's lips. The glow of the laptop's screen was suddenly trailing over the planes of the man's face, an index finger punched into a small button on the side.

Only then did Matt get it, dots connecting rapidly to form the, in retrospect, obvious conclusion. "There isn't supposed to be a drill today."

"No," said L, voice back to flat monotone, "There isn't."

* * *

**A/N:** It's been a long time. I'm truly sorry. I have a thousand excuses I could offer for my absence; many of them good. Suffice to say real life has a way of butting into fanfiction writing. And PM + review answering.

(Several people have asked me why Harry didn't understand Mello's comment about 'hitting the seamstress'. I simply figured it was one of those expressions that was 1) American 1) Relatively modern, and that the Wizarding world in the nineties wouldn't be familiar with it. If it's not, I apologize and blush in every direction.)

Thanks to **mabidiso** as well as all you other reviewers, whose polite and/or eager requests for more reminds me why I want to share my writing. Reviews are like a battery, I kid you not.

Oh, and for those of you waiting for the next chapter of Teacher – It's 2/3 written, and I am working on it. Also, Changeling isn't dying. I have way too many notes on stuff to happen to give it up now, okay? That said, I'd appreciate if you gave me the head's up about any errors you may find - because, as acknowledged, it has been a while since I was last on this fic (*cue wince*) and despite the plentiful notes, some things might still slip through the cracks.

What did you think of the chapter? (I'm particularly interested to hear what you thought about Mello's POV, because he's as difficult to write as he is a character.)


	13. The Stirring of Still Waters

**Changeling, chapter 13: The Stirring Of Still Waters**

"_If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in __**water**__."_ - Loran Eisely

* * *

Harry trailed after Mello, walking next to the white-clad Near at the end of the line of people slowly trickling back into the house. As they passed the blonde who'd led him to the aptitude test, Harry overheard her murmur to another woman, "-cause of the fire?" A woman with darker skin and slanted eyes shook her head and they hurried away, both frowning.

"It seems this was not an exercise planned by the caretakers," the boy at his side murmured, and Harry glanced over to see Near staring at a small robot-doll in his hands, eyebrows drawn together and the look in his blank eyes absent.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, though he wasn't sure how worried he should be about this whole thing in the first place. Mello looked back at him and rolled his eyes, and Harry took that as a sign that this probably wasn't going to bring on some huge battle, like what tended to happen around him back in his own world. It wasn't like there were Death Eaters around to spread chaos.

That didn't make the whole business with them potentially burning alive any easier, though. Fire could be the orange flicker in his water visions, but even if it wasn't, Harry had never really gotten over that one short skirmish in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts. Fiendfyre was a spell he'd never liked to wield, no matter how useful it could be.

They continued into the house, and Harry watched as the group of children scattered when they got closer to the stairs, with most of them ending up in small groups or pairs. The two caretaker women came in a few minutes later, and the blond he'd met before but whose name he couldn't remember walked up to them with a smile. "Thank you for your aplomb in the face of this unexpected situation," she said, and Mello snorted. Harry nodded uncertainly, not wanting to be rude. Near didn't appear to have noticed the woman at all, or else he was just ignoring her.

At Mello's snort, the woman - _Anderson_, Harry thought her last name was. Something beginning with an 'A', anyway – shook her head, though she didn't seem particularly bothered by the rudeness. "Mello, I'm afraid today's flying lesson has been cancelled."

Mello snorted again, an annoyed sound. "Figures. Some screw-up happens and everything else gets shuffled to the side." Anderson made a sympathetic noise as Harry tried to figure out if he'd heard correctly. _Flying_ lessons? As in, with an _airplane_? Once again Harry had to re-evaluate Wammy's House, because flying lessons meant travelling some place a plane could fly, and getting a hold of an instructor, plus an actual plane and whatever permits were necessary to use airspace... Harry reeled. What kind of place had he gotten involved with?

"Harry," Anderson said and Harry twitched in surprise at hearing his real name and not 'Hadrian'. Right, he'd been 'renamed', and should expect to be called by his birth name from now on. The irony was still kind of unnerving, and made his latent paranoia hum. "The results from your aptitude test have been reviewed by myself and Huan, and we will have a primary schedule ready in a day or two."

Harry frowned. "Primary schedule?"

"It's the first schedule you get, before you're specialized in any way. Just the core basics," Mello said, surprisingly helpfully and without cursing or calling him a brat. Harry tried not to stare at him suspiciously, because the innocence floating around his head was off-color in the extreme. Plus, the brownish-purple resentment was still hovering in the wings, though Harry didn't think that was directed towards himself.

"Can't I just attend the same classes you do, if it's just the basics?" he wondered out loud.

Mello rolled his eyes, abruptly dropping whatever impulsive bout of politeness he'd had. "The basics are at different levels too, brat. Psychology is a core subject, but Matt's had it for five years, so if you've never studied the subject before, you won't be able to keep up for shit. Obviously." Harry felt the back of his neck warm with embarrassment, because in hindsight that was kind of obvious. He'd just assumed that the basics were actually _basic_.

"Mello," Anderson murmured, expression drawn with displeasure, and Mello rolled his eyes again. Anderson turned to Harry and smiled, bending down to meet his eyes. "Though the delivery was a bit impolite, Mello is essentially correct. We need to judge what level you are at to find your proper placement." Harry nodded, taking a step back to avoid being blinded by the bright sincerity shining out of her.

There was the sound of steps coming down the stairs behind their group, and Anderson straightened in the same moment Mello turned. Harry's eyes flickered, and without thought he bent his knees into the position he'd have taken in preparation for a fight, only to immediately jerk back out of the position when he noticed Near staring at him.

A flash of red hair made him look back in the direction of the stairs. "Are you still here?" Matt sounded surprised, and Harry glanced up at him to find his colors layered in between shards of blue-green worry. "Why didn't you head back to your rooms?" he asked Mello, who shrugged.

"Waiting for you, geek."

Harry wasn't sure that was true, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do anyway, so he hadn't really minded standing around here. Only a tiny portion of him had thought he might actually catch something interesting going on the would explain the fire alarm situation. He wasn't here to sneak around like he'd done in Hogwarts and get involved in more trouble than he already was, no matter what the Red Painter had done to Christine.

These thoughts were running through his head in Hermione's voice, but he couldn't really convince himself they had much merit. His first friend in this world, the first person to accept him, had been murdered. What was the point of having supernatural powers, a background in guerilla fighting and a boost in his intelligence, if it wasn't put to good use?

"Here I am," Matt said dryly, and then turned towards Anderson. "Are you going to the office later?" And when Anderson nodded, "Could you run an errand for me on the way back?" The shards of blue-green grew brighter, and Harry kept his frown from showing on his face. Matt definitely knew something, but not necessarily about this situation. He could be worried about something else entirely... Though that didn't sound very likely.

He handed her a note, and without even looking, Anderson slid it into a pocket. "Of course, Matt."

Then the redhead glanced over at him. "Your laptop has arrived from whatever store Wammy orders computers from," Matt said and smiled, though Harry was entirely sure that was not actually the errand Anderson was to run. "Do you have anything else you want for your room, while we're at it?"

Harry blinked, pursing his lips in thought. There was something he'd been wanting, though he couldn't remember... oh! "I'd like some quills, if that's possible." He wasn't sure how difficult it was to get a hold of quills in this world, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

"Quills? Like eighteenth century writing stuff?" Mello asked, eyebrows rising to his hairline. Harry was more surprised than he should have been that the blond knew exactly what he was referring to.

"I prefer writing with quills." He shrugged and then held back a wince at the zing of interest that burst into Mello's aura, and the flash of calculation in the blond's eyes.

"You a history buff, brat? Or just a fan of the Bard?" Harry had no idea what Mello meant by that, but assumed by the mocking grin tugging the corner's of the teen's mouth that glaring wouldn't be too strange a response - and it would cover up his confusion.

Harry glared. "I just like quills. It makes for smoother writing."

"I think I should be able to manage that, Harry." Anna smiled at him, and Harry's impression of that patient smile was that she was used to defusing arguments. "It might take a few days if I need to special order or import them, though."

Harry nodded and thanked her, studiously ignoring Mello's narrow-eyed stare.

"Before the shower session, I think we should head up to eat." Matt's voice was calm and a little absent, but his aura was pulsing with focus, and it felt like the redhead was looking at him even though his eyes were resting on Mello.

Anderson said, "That sounds like a good idea." Turning away from Matt, she added, "But Near, you have your calculus lesson in about ten minutes, right?" Harry had all but forgotten the pale boy was still around, and almost startled at Near's quiet agreement.

Anderson smiled. "I'll accompany you and make sure to have something for you to eat as well. No use trying to focus on all those numbers on an empty stomach." She just about herded Near towards the stairs, though somehow completely without touching him.

"Fish-eyes is gone is gone, so what do you have for us?" Mello asked as soon as the two of them were out of view, rubbing his hands together like a stereotypical movie villain. Matt sighed and shook his head, leading the way to the stairs Harry thought he and Mello had descended on their way out.

"Nothing. We haven't investigated whatever happened, on account of it _having just happened_." He sounded more annoyed than his colors implied, and Harry was about to ask a question of his own – like why Mello assumed Matt would know anything about what was going on – when the blond teen stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.

"Mello?" Matt asked, moving to look at what had caught Mello's attention. "What is it?"

Curious, Harry turned back from where he'd been standing a few steps ahead of the pair. He leaned around the blond to get a look and then froze up before forcibly relaxing himself. In a puddle of water on the floor, surrounded by flowers, lay the vase Harry was sure he'd caused to fall with his flare of panic when he and Mello had made their way out of the house.

Of course that would end up coming back to bite him. He should have expected it, really. Breathing out in a slow, controlled exhale, Harry reminded himself that Mello was, despite his attitude, and intelligent and rational person. Such people were not prone to jump to supernatural conclusions.

Hopefully.

"Is there something in this?" Mello asked, pointing at the buffet the vase had been standing on. Matt shrugged and shook his head, a questioning look in his eyes. "This vase randomly fucking jumped off it when we were on our way out," the blond said and pointed to Harry with his thumb, gaze sliding away – only to catch and then narrow, presumably when he caught sight whatever expression Harry hadn't been able to cover quick enough.

"Jumped off?" Matt's scepticism was obvious and Mello impatiently waved a hand.

"_Fell_ off, then. On its own." He stared back at Harry again, but this time Harry painted a clueless look over his features, and the blond frowned. "The brat was here then too. Saw it happen." There was a challenge in the tone, a _I-dare-you-to-lie_ look on his face, and Harry got the feeling that Mello_ wanted_ him to lie and thus prove to him, if not to Matt, that there was something strange going on. And that Harry had something to do with it.

So Harry promptly nodded. "It really did just fall over." He tilted his head. "Is there something behind the wall or the floor that causes vibrations, that might have made it fall?" he said with curiosity as sincere as he could make it. But instead of clearing, Mello's eyes narrowed further and Harry wondered if it was just the blond being paranoid or if his expression had been sending out vibes that told Mello he had something to hide.

"I don't think so, no," Matt said slowly, sounding confused. He looked between the blond teen and Harry like he thought he must have missed some important part of the conversation and then suggested, "Everyone hurrying to get out might have caused vibrations, though."

"Yeah. That was probably it," Mello said flatly, eyes boring into the side of Harry's head when he nodded to the redhead's explanation, trying not to let the cold sweat show. He couldn't quite read the murky depth of the blond's aura, but there was hard curiosity there, as well as suspicion. It was blunt enough that Harry surreptitiously pressed a hand to his stomach under his shirt, trying to stave off the ache.

"So let's go eat?" Matt said, obviously considering the matter closed. Harry nodded, and once again the redhead lead the way. For some reason they ended up in Harry's room, and with timing impeccable enough that Harry wondered if they were being watched, the Asian woman from before showed up with a tray of foodstuffs and drinks.

They ate in relative silence, and Harry wished he'd been less nervous, because keeping up a conversation might have at least temporarily removed that terrifyingly contemplative look from the blond teen's expression.

"Are you the babysitter for the shower fun time today?" Mello asked, scraping the last pieces from his plate and shoving them into his mouth before glancing up at Matt. The redhead nodded, downing the last of his drink in one swallow.

"What 'shower fun time'?" He remembered Matt saying something about a shower session and the corners of his lips drew down a little. Water. Visions. But since the shower stalls were supposed to have curtains, at least he'd manage to avoid probing eyes. And if he kept his own eyes closed, perhaps he wouldn't see anything in the water.

He saw Matt's colors sharpen with concern and something he thought might be remembrance. "The shower session for the younger children is in an hour. I'm to supervise." Harry forced down his discomfort, nodding. He'd eaten half the plate of food, which was a lot more than he thought he'd be able to get down with anxiety taking up so much room in his stomach.

"By the way, brat, could you translate this for me?" Mello pulled something from his jeans pocket, and Harry warily bent forward to have a look. It was a folded piece of paper, and the blond practically pushed it onto him when he hesitated to accept it. None of the colors Harry would associate with some kind of trap or test radiated from the teen, though, so perhaps Mello was moving on to something else for now.

One side of the paper was jagged, like it'd been ripped from a book. Curious despite himself, Harry frowned at it. "What is it?"

"A page from an instruction manual," he muttered, sounding annoyed. "Originally I had it in English, but it -" he gestured with a hand and Matt sighed.

"- 'had an accident'?" the redhead finished, throwing his friend a dry look. Mello nodded carelessly, not seeming very concerned about it. Looking down at the unfolded, wrinkly paper, it took Harry several seconds to recognize the language. Spanish.

"I can't translate this," he said, shaking his head. Mello frowned, sitting up straighter.

"What kind of linguist are you? It's fucking Spanish! The third-most spoken language in the world!" When Harry just shrugged helplessly, Mello snatched the paper from his hands and stared down at it. "Seriously, what kind of linguist are you? What languages do you speak?"

Harry pursed his lips, not really wanting to give the blond any more cause to find him strange, but not wanting to dodge another question and feed into whatever suspicions Mello was entertaining. "Some... older languages."

"Older? What, like ancient Greek?" Sarcasm dripped from the words and Harry winced a little. Mello's aura promptly flared with realization and Harry just knew he should have tried to avoid this somehow, at least for a while longer. "You speak _ancient_ fucking _Greek_?" he asked incredulously, leaning forward to stare into Harry's eyes, like that would help him discern potential lies. Harry tucked his chin in and tried to look less uncomfortable than he felt.

"Yes. I had... peculiar teachers." Mello sat back a little at that, looking like he wasn't sure he was hearing Harry correctly.

"The same teachers who taught you to prefer quills over pens?" Matt asked, also with clear surprise in his eyes. Harry blinked, and then nodded. Because that was, upon reflection, actually true. He hadn't expected the redhead to connect one thing used in history but not in modern day with another so quickly, though. Quills were a few thousand years younger than ancient Greek, after all.

_Geniuses_, Harry thought with a mental sigh.

"Brat, what the hell kind of teachers did you have?" Mello asked, his tone implying a kind of shocked admiration. Harry shrugged, not sure how to answer that, since a lot of his teachers had been insane sadists and even those who weren't probably didn't exist here -

Another thought shoved itself into the forefront of his mind. The one they called Martha Seamstress. Who Harry had known in his own world as Madam Malkin. That... brought up possibilities Harry hadn't even begun to contemplate. That the fire alarm situation had distracted him was no excuse not to ponder the possibilities of there being doubles of the people he'd known in his own world, and what that meant for this one.

Harry sincerely doubted that the Madam Malkin of this place – whose name here wasn't Madam _anything_, but Martha Seamstress – was a witch. There was no magic here, just this other power Harry himself had, and very little of that in very few people. Was she one of those people? He couldn't assume she was, could he? Because if there were other doubles of people he'd known in this world, that would mean there were quite a lot of people around with powers like the ones he now possessed, and that was contrary to what the heart had told him before he'd come here.

But could he assume she was a muggle? That her being here, in the same place he'd ended up, was a complete coincidence? _CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_ he heard Moody echo from the depth of his memories, and Harry agreed. Being vigilant was about all he could do at this point anyway -

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Harry almost jumped at the sound. "Brat, checking out of yet another conversation is just rude. You don't want to be rude, do you?" Mello grinned at him when Harry glared at him.

"No, I wouldn't. People would think I was trying to imitate you," he muttered and the blond's grin widened until he looked something like a satisfied Cheshire cat. He leaned his chin on his knuckles and his elbow on a knee.

"So, about your teachers..?"

"My teachers are none of your business," Harry said, smiling politely. He kept his expression bland even as Mello growled at him, looking like he was preparing to take to drastic measures to get the answers he wanted.

"I'm kind of curious too, actually," Matt murmured, sounding almost apologetic for saying so.

Harry sighed. Riling up Mello was just the blond getting what he deserved, but being rude to the redhead would just feel petty. "My teachers were interested in history and I suppose that spread to me."

"'Spread', huh. Yeah, they infected you with ancient Greek..." Mello muttered. Matt poked his flank sharply with a finger, and the blond jerked, glaring at his friend but actually quieting without further ado.

"Not just ancient languages, but old buildings too." Hogwarts certainly counted. "I had parchment to write on." He spoke a bit more about general, hopefully not very suspicious things, like growing herbs and making 'ointments' (rather than potions) and a bit about painting, since that was one of the third year electives and Colin Creevey had chattered about it constantly in Harry's fourth year.

A knock on the door interrupted one of Mello's ensuing questions, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The blond just wouldn't give up, no matter how Harry dodged the questions. Discreetly or bluntly, Mello would turn the conversation back to what he'd decided to find out, and Harry was just beginning to wonder if he could just kick the blond teen out when the interruption came.

Harry called for the person outside to enter, and the Asian woman from before stepped inside. "Matt, Harry, it is time for the shower session." Matt nodded and the woman promptly stepped back outside, apparently sure that they would need no further encouragement.

"You head off, I'm staying here." Mello slumped backwards onto the bed, and Harry frowned at him.

"You're not sleeping on my bed and you're not poking around my room," he said, preparing to argue or even do something as childish as go ask one of the caretakers to throw Mello out for him, but the blond just rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath and then actually stomped out of the room. Harry tried not to look to surprised.

Matt bent down and said quietly, "I think you hit the nail on the head with that last bit. Mello is an incorrigible snoop." He chuckled and as they walked to the shower room, Harry got the impression that for whatever reason, the redhead was quite happy with him snapping back at Mello.

A brown-haired boy maybe a few years younger than Harry's current body stood in front of a door, talking animatedly to a dark-skinned boy with lips drawn into a quiet-looking smile.

"The one with brown hair is Douglas, and the other is Damien. I think I mentioned them before?" Matt asked quietly, and Harry nodded. He'd expected a lot more people here than just two young boys, and felt relief loosen his shoulders. Perhaps this wouldn't be a _complete_ disaster.

"The shower sessions are only three people at a time?" Harry asked, and saw a flash of something in the redhead's eyes. Matt smiled, lifting his shoulders in a small shrug.

"Sometimes it's in larger groups, other times it's just a few people." From the look of the teen's aura, there was something that wasn't quite true about that, but Harry couldn't exactly call Matt on it.

Matt herded the kids in ahead of himself before the boys could do much more than look at him curiously, and Harry was thankful for the lack of attention. The redhead turned towards him in the midst of trying to wrestle Damien's shirt off and not receiving much help from the boy himself, nodding towards the row of stalls on the left side of the room.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume you can take care of yourself," he said with another smile, this one with a teasing edge to it. Harry made a rude sound in return and moved down the row of stalls, ending up by the stall the farthest away from where the other three were.

It was like a large cubicle with a heavy plastic curtain that substituted for a fourth wall, and Harry estimated that even if he let his pile of clothes lie inside the stall rather than hang them on the hooks on the wall between this stall and the next one, it wasn't likely the spray of water would reach it. It took him four large steps to reach the wall on the far end, and as he shrugged off his clothes, the worry that the other kids – or Matt – might see his scars and draw damning conclusions faded. He was alone in here.

It took him half a minute of staring at the tap and trying not to think about the twisted visions he'd been seeing in water before he actually turned on the shower, eyes squeezed shut and head bent down. The feel of water splashing over his back was a lot more nerve-wracking than it should have been, and Harry had to force himself to breathe calmly and not think about the flashes of orange he'd been seeing or the hideous crimson flaring in the Red Painter's aura.

Harry reached blindly for the soap in the shallow bowl mounted on the wall next to the tap, and began cleaning himself, still with that rippling nervousness in his stomach. Like his eyes might open involuntarily and _force_ him to see something. He listened for the muffled sounds of Matt scolding one of the boys for something, a calming normalcy that drove away some of the dark knots, and absently traced the scar from the basilisk fang, body loosening when nothing in particular happened. It was a familiar mark, if a bit awkward on this small body. After a while he moved on to the edge of another scar that slithered over his collarbone and down in a narrow arch that ended close to a nipple. He couldn't even recall who'd given him that one. A few more minutes passed in silence and heat, the warmth working wonders on the stiffness in his shoulders. Harry held back a yawn and leaned back on the wall, starting to enjoy himself.

Lulled by the familiarity and the heat of the water, Harry looked down at himself, at his tiny awkward-fitting body and slowly rubbed the back of his neck, body loosening even further. His stomach wasn't quite concave, but it was a little sunken in. He kind of looked like when he'd been living with the Dursleys, before Hogwarts, and he should probably do something about that.

Along one knobby-kneed leg, there was another scar, this one almost circular, and Harry traced it with his gaze down to his ankle, to his foot standing in a puddle of water -

A cold golden light pulsed from within the puddle, and Harry froze.

He could almost hear the sound of his own heart as it sped up. Peripherally he noticed that the droplets on the walls had become golden too, running down the tiles like gleaming molten lava, but he couldn't look straight at them. He couldn't even move his head. The water at his feet morphed, like what Tonks used to do with her face to entertain him and his friends when they were younger, and bulged unnaturally into solid, serpentine shapes. Harry watched with his breath locked in his throat and his jaw so tightly clenched he could feel the tendons in his neck strain, as thousands of thin chains burst from the shapes.

He still couldn't move. It was like he'd been Petrified, except there was no magic here. There was no magic here. THERE WAS NO MAGIC HERE.

Harry's vision swam, and blinking involuntarily, he watched the scene in front of his eyes waver and disappear like a mirage, or the heated air over a fire. Nothing but rippling transparency, until what was in front of him was just – the inside of a shower stall. Sound came rushing back like someone had taken a hammer to his head and beaten noise back in with one good swing, and he fell to his knees with a _thump_, hardly noticing the pain as his kneecaps hit the tiles. There was the sound of water beating the stall, falling over his back and head and the amplified sound of his own breathing whooshing wetly between moist lips.

"Harry?" a voice called out, and it was testimony to his disorientation that it took him several seconds to recognize it. Matt. With that recognition, Harry could suddenly hear the high-pitched voices presumably belonging to the two children also showering, except they sounded odd, wavering in and out of his hearing.

"_Harry?_" Matt called again, voice sharper, and Harry bent over with a sudden choked cough when the teen's colors almost _slammed_ into him, despite Matt being on the other side of the shower curtain.

Everything flickered, and Harry tried to stand up, only to be thrown by a sense of vertigo so strong it was like being hit by an overpowered Jelly-Brain Jinx. He cut off a keening noise when bile made its way up his throat and gave up the idea of standing. He'd apparently ended up on the stall floor somehow in between the waves of nausea, without even noticing. In the back of his mind Harry thought Moody would have been very disappointed by his lack of vigilance.

A sharper, darker blue-green flickered at the edges of his senses, and Harry's expression crumpled into a grimace. "Harry, I'm coming i-"

Between one heartbeat and the next, everything went dark.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been quite a while (again), and I'm sorry for that. Like usual *sheepish* It's the last two months of school and the busy-times will probably be going strong until June.

_Teacher_ has been updated as well, for those of you interested in that story. Oh, and I crossposted a Supernatural story from my LJ some time ago.

I'd really like to hear from you, even if it's just a short note complaining about my absence *wince* Though I'd appreciate knowing what you thought of this chapter even more, of course. ;)


	14. Boyhood Scars

**Changeling, chapter 14: Boyhood Scars**

_It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person __**a few scars**__. - Garrison Keillor _

* * *

Having Mello as his best friend meant that Matt was pretty well-versed in the unexpected ways a day could turn out. The morning could be bringing normal tidings, with classes and the regular routine going strong, only for Mello to have a 'brilliant idea' and ending the day with Matt covered in muck and soot and wondering if he should invest in a new best friend.

He'd had a heads-up today at least, since he'd known that Hadrian had some hang-ups about the showers, even if he didn't known the how's or the why's. So when the hard sound of something hitting tiles rang beneath Damien's and Douglas' squeals of laughter as they attempted to drown each other with lather-filled water, Matt was on his feet. His ears had already been half-turned toward the stall Hadrian had chosen, the one farthest away from him and the younger kids.

The reason this particular shower group was so small was just because they'd expected something. Or, well, _Matt_ had dreaded something happening (because he remembered, vividly, the look in Hadrian's eyes the first time he'd mentioned the shower sessions) and L had been eager for it.

He called Hadrian's alias, moving closer to the stall as calmly as he could so as to not incite any curiosity on the younger children's part. He called out again and felt worry boil in his stomach when all he could hear was the persistent rhythm of the cascading water from the tap.

"Harry," Matt said, finally, standing just outside the stall. "I'm coming in." He waited for a second, in the vain hope that something might happen to prove Hadrian's well-being, before another wave of dread hit him deeply enough that he tore the shower curtain aside.

What he found shouldn't have surprised him, really. And in the back of his mind, it didn't. The boy was lying prone on the wet tiles, half-curled on his side, and Matt was dropping to his knees before he'd even fully registered the movement. As part of his practical and applied psychology studies, he'd taken a few classes in basic first aid, and counting the beats of a heart with fingers pressed to a jugular was something he even had some real-life practice with. That unfortunately didn't really make this situation any easier, even though it logically should have.

Hadrian's heart was definitely still pumping, but it was beating much too quickly, like he'd overdosed on something. Matt knew only vaguely and by proxy that sympathomimetic drugs could cause increased heart-rate, but it could be incited by a multitude of other things and Matt was definitely no doctor. Mello had once said that naloxone could help treat heroin overdoses, but heroin was an opiate – and damn it, he wasn't thinking clearly.

Matt took a deep breath, thumbs drumming against the sides of his fingers, and then slowly exhaled. _Look at what you have. Then look at what you can do._

The boy's heart rate was up, but he should check Hadrian's pupils and temperature as well. To get an accurate read on the boy, he'd need to get him out from underneath the spray of water.

Matt carefully pulled the boy into his lap and then scooted backwards, trying to avoid jostling the unresponsive body. His back hit the wall and Matt gently drew the boy out of his lap and then laid him back. Only then did he notice what had been nigh invisible under the water.

The boy's body was positively _riddled_ with scars.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, but the mental afterimage behind his eyelids showed him at least a dozen scars of different sizes spread out like roads and landmarks on a map. Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and carefully didn't think about what could have caused them, for what reason they were there.

Mett was a pretty normal guy, really. He liked being normal, even occasionally thought of it as kind of refreshing compared to the general abnormality of a lot of people in this house. But that didn't mean he didn't have his own quirks. They said all geniuses did, and since he apparently belonged in that category... Well.

He looked back down at the unconscious boy, and divested himself of the real world as he did. This was just the next level, and he'd collect a lot of points clearing it without losing any lives. Temperature: normal, pupils: dilated, red marks on knees, nothing broken, no bleeding. Breathing elevated. Requires medical attention.

"Damien!" Matt barely turned his head, and his eyes never moved from Hadrian. He'd apparently already noticed that the boys were no longer where he'd left them, though he hadn't actually realized that he'd noticed it.

"What's going on? Is he sick?" Douglas asked from a few steps behind him, while Damien stepped forward and kneeled by Matt's side. The reason why he put up with these particular brats was this boy. Damien looked calm, a far cry from the happily splashing boy who'd cupped a handful of water and thrown it at Douglas the second the tap had been turned on.

"Yes?" Sometimes Matt wondered if Damien had two separate personalities he could switch between. One Douglas-induced beast of a boy, and then this quiet and dark-eyed little thing, looking at him with steady eyes. "Is he epileptic?"

"I don't think so. This doesn't seem to be a seizure." Though it could have been. Maybe he'd just missed the seizure and Hadrian had hit his head? Or maybe it'd been a micro-seizure without any noticeable physical signs? "But I'm not a doctor, so I can't be sure." Having to keep himself calm to make sure the children weren't frightened did wonders for keeping his voice even, Matt noticed. "I need you to dress yourself and run to get Huan Chi. Could you do that?"

Damien nodded quickly, getting off his knees and taking off in a run.

"Should I do something too?" Douglas asked after a minute of uneasy silence, small fists clenching and expression uncertain in the moment Matt spared to look at the other boy and shake his head. He was keeping his fingers pressed over Hadrian's pulse point, eyes flickering down to watch the uneven rise and fall of the boy's chest. Whenever the rhythm of Hadrian's breaths hitched, Matt's heart caught in his throat, only to fall back to his chest when it evened out again.

A second later Damien tore back into the room with Huan Chi in tow, and Matt could hear him panting as he pointed in their direction. Huan's expression was pinched and she stalked forward with purpose that quite frankly relieved Matt. She had a large white box pressed to her side, but with her free arm she ushered him aside.

At her sharp glance, Matt listed the boy's vitals and then sat back to watch her work. After a quick examination, wherein her fingers lingered over a few of Hadrian's more noticeable scars and her eyebrows slowly drew together, she pulled the towel by the stall to her and proceeded to wrap the boy in it. Then she gathered him in her arms, and Matt jumped up to follow when she stalked back out.

"Whe-"

"The infirmary."

"Wha-"

"I don't know yet, but I need to attend to the tachycardia. Considering his age, his heart rate should be no higher than 130 bpm." The corners of her lips tilted upwards in an expression that was much too grim to look anything like a smile. "I guess this will give me an opportunity to try out the infirmary's new electrocardiogram."

Matt wasn't entirely sure what an electrocardiogram was, but assumed by the context that it was a machine to measure or examine heart rates. He was fairly sure that most infirmaries didn't have those kinds of machines, and was utterly unsurprised to find that Wammy's infirmary did.

He'd only been in the first chamber of the infirmary, the one where minor injuries where tended to, but knew there were other examination rooms beyond that one. Mello had been in one of them when he'd broken his arm a few years back. And a few times before that too, for... other reasons.

"He weighs much too little," Huan muttered as they entered the infirmary, just a corridor away. Matt nodded, because he'd noticed that even before he'd seen boy's protruding ribs. The caretaker gently lowered Hadrian to a sickbed, before drawing the towel down to his waist.

What followed was Huan attaching a half-circle of electrodes around the boy's heart, and additional electrodes at the wrists and ankles. She muttered something about '12-leads' and that the 'QRS duration' was 'too short', while Matt berated himself for never taking more interest in medicine. He'd have liked to understand what it all meant for Hadrian, but definitely wasn't willing to interrupt Huan in her work as Mello undoubtedly would have done.

The caretaker stared at the monitor showing the hills and valleys of the bright thread that mimicked the boy's heartbeats, and after a few minutes of going back and forth between her observation of Hadrian and of the monitor, she sat back and sighed.

"As far as I can tell, it's sinus," she said, rubbing her nose with two fingers and squeezing her eyes shut.

Unused to feeling like he was missing the obvious, Matt took a second to swallow whatever pride made him hesitate to reveal ignorance, asking, "What's that?"

Huan looked at him from the corner of her eye, but didn't comment. "'Normal' tachycardia, like after a workout." She paused for a moment, scowled and then continued, "Well, normal for someone who's been exercising. The kid's much too young to be doing any kind of 'exercising' in the showers, so in this instance, the sinus is abnormal."

"Do you have any idea - ?"

"Could be a sign of stress, like a panic attack, anemia or dehydration... he doesn't have a fever, so that can't be it... I suppose drug withdrawal is also possible, though the kid looks kind of young for that too. Then again, so was Mello..." she'd been muttering like she was talking to herself, but at Matt's best friend's name, she trailed off.

"Yeah." Matt tapped his thumbs against his index fingers with a sense of dread in his stomach. "But Had- Harry doesn't seem to have any holes or scars from needles," he said quietly, unsure of what he meant to accomplish by saying that. There were so many drugs that could be taken orally or smoked that it was an outright stupid comment to make.

"There is that." She took a slow breath and Matt knew what she was going to ask before she did. "I don't suppose you've gotten anything out of him regarding his roadmap of a body?" she said, trailing a finger down the scar that began on Hadrian's bony upper arm and wound it's way down. It started as a gouge, like someone had taken a teaspoon and carved a little lump of flesh from the arm before slicing downwards along the line of Hadrian's arm.

"I – no. I knew the showers scared him for some reason, and I thought he might be aphephobic, since I noticed that he doesn't like crowds -" And he was babbling. Matt shut his mouth, rubbed his hands together.

"He hasn't been here for long. Like Rome, trust isn't built in a day." Huan sighed, seeming to dismiss any notion of Matt as responsible for his ignorance in this instance "He eats well?" Staring at the boy's jutting hipbones, Matt could understand the thin thread of scepticism in her voice.

"When prodded, yeah. Before he came here, who knows?" Making an agreeing sound, Huan fished up a key she had on her necklace under her shirt, walked to the large white cupboard on the wall opposite the bed and plucked one of the hundreds of small tins of pills from one of its shelves. She weighed it in her hand considerately.

"I'll have Roger import more child-friendly supplements. Until then, have him take one of these during meals. They should be mild enough." She handed it over with a deep frown that added years to her face.

"Thank you." Matt pocketed the tin, wondering if he'd be able to convince the boy to actually eat them. Resorting to threats - like Mello might have - wouldn't make the boy feel safer, but it would be better than doing nothing.

There was a gasping sound behind them, and Matt spun around in the same moment Hadrian heaved off the bed. He startled forward before the boy could topple over the side, and then quickly backed off when the touch of his hands on Hadrian's shoulders elicited a flinch. Huan had moved to stand at the boy's side, just outside his personal space but still well within reach. Matt got the feeling she'd adopted that precise distance many times before.

Hadrian clutched at his head, pain clear on his pale face. Matt caught the new hills marching past in quick succession on the electrocardiogram's monitor and bit the inside of his cheek in indecision.

"Harry?" he ventured when the boy's heart didn't slow down and Huan's eyes were starting to move across his body, like she was contemplating intervening. Matt was sure that her doing that would cause Hadrian's heart to race even more dangerously than it already was.

The boy looked up at him at the sound of his name, pupils so dilated it was swallowing most of the iris, and blinked. His disorientation was obvious and Matt was surprised to find himself so pained to see it. But coupled with that malnourished body and those scars, Hadrian looked like a poster-child for every bad thing your parents ever tried to protect you from, even more so than the other bad cases Matt had seen here.

"Hmmatt?" the boy muttered, still clutching at his head.

"Hey." Matt tried to make his smile as gentle as he possibly could, tried not to stare at any of Hadrian's scars. "Are you in pain, Harry?" he asked, matching his body language to his tone. Non-threatening, mild.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when the boy nodded a 'yes' to his question.

Huan stepped forward at that, startling a cringe out of the boy, and asked to touch his scalp to check for bumps. "Your pupils are dilated enough that a concussion isn't out of the question," she explained, slowly and clearly, like she wasn't sure Hadrian would understand her otherwise. Matt hoped she was just being pessimistic. "And I can't give you anything for the pain before I know for certain that you're not concussed."

"Concussion? Oh, the stall..." he thought for a moment, and Matt was so sure he'd reject her request that he couldn't stop his eyebrows from twitching upwards when he nodded. "I don't remember hitting my head, but I might have passed out before that." He sounded pained, weary, and Matt slowly moved closer to sit at the foot-end of the bed. Hadrian was small enough that there was quite a bit of space between them when the boy was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin.

Huan began her examination, though to Matt it just looked like she was carding through Hadrian's hair. The boy was frowning though, and it almost looked like his flesh was flinching away even though he wasn't moving. Wondering if Hadrian might feel at least a little less uncomfortable if he were to be distracted, Matt opened his mouth to spout something inconsequential, only to be interrupted by the boy's quiet voice.

"You don't have to be worried," Hadrian murmured, scratching his forehead. "Shit happens." He snorted, like it was meant to be amusing, and Matt tried to recall if he'd ever heard the boy curse before. Was this a behavioural anomaly brought on by a concussion? Matt had never considered himself to be particularly paranoid, so he turned away from that kneejerk thought with determination. He wasn't the pessimistic one; he left that for his glass-half-full friends.

"We're not choosing to worry, you realize. You gave us quite the scare." Huan's voice was a little absent as she focused on her examination.

"Sorry," Hadrian muttered, wiping his hands over his face in a move that looked too adult for a prepubescent boy. Not that he was the only resident of Wammy's to act 'too adult' on occasion. Or always. "Damn showers..." he continued under his breath, and Matt wasn't sure if they were meant to hear that. By those words, Matt would assume that the boy had had similar kinds of fits in the shower before, but since there wasn't anything in the shower that could cause a biological reaction that would lead to him fainting, the reaction must be psychosomatic.

He'd assumed the boy's fear of the communal showers was due to the other children's presence, and that the fear was assuaged when he realized he could shut himself into the stall by way of the shower curtain... but what if having this kind of 'episode' was what Hadrian had feared? Perhaps... Matt's eyes went quickly over the boy's scarred body and then away, not wanting to call attention to it, since Hadrian hadn't seemed to realize he wasn't wearing anything but a towel that only covered him from the waist down.

Perhaps... Hadrian was having flashbacks.

* * *

L gritted his teeth and tried to suppress the urge to just throw the damn computer across the room. What was the point of even setting up cameras in the first place if they weren't going to be cooperative in the moments he truly needed them to work? They'd been just fine when Hadrian, Matt and the other two boys entered the shower room. He'd been slightly annoyed when Hadrian had closed the shower curtain before undressing, but since that move was a clue to whatever was going on with the annoying, frustrating, utterly _aggravating_ enigma, he could accept it.

What he could not accept was the screen showing the room suddenly, for no apparent reason, flickering into blackness. The codes that controlled the camera's movements were fine – L had checked. The transference link between camera and computer was fine – he'd checked that too. In fact, he'd checked every single thing that could possibly have caused the sudden blackout, and found absolutely nothing. It was utterly _infuriating_ and he'd actually sacrificed a piece of chocolate to throw at the wall in his annoyance, before the screen flickered back to life again. It did so without any sign of static – one moment there was blackness and in the next, Matt was dragging a limp form from the stall.

L crept closer to the screen, until he was hovering near enough that his breath fanned across the monitor. Those scars... L's mind whirled, and in his excitement, he bit off a good chunk of his half-forgotten chocolate bar. _Signs of... abuse? Previous involvement with a gang? War?_ He couldn't see the boy's body very clearly from where he was, especially when Huan Chi swept the boy in a towel and carried him off like a sack of potatoes, but the initial impression was one of a lot of damage sustained over a long period of time.

It wasn't likely a child would survive that many injuries if they were inflicted over a short period of time, and since Matt had implied that the boy was extremely wary of communal showers, it would stand to reason that the aversion must have built up, though of course there was also a 13% chance that the injuries had been inflicted at the same time and that the aversion had built up after that one event -

The phone rang and L's forehead hit the screen when he jumped at the sound. He glared at the phone, pondered not picking it up for daring to interrupt him at this moment, grimaced when a thought struck him, and then reluctantly took it between thumb and forefinger. Wammy would never let him hear the end of it if he made whatever inconsiderate person was on the other side call Wammy to pass on a message, not when Wammy knew that L's phone was on.

"What?" he said sourly, smudging a small piece of chocolate between his fingers and then licking it off.

"L, we traced that partial fingerprint and found one match." And just like that, L bestowed at least half of his attention upon the interrupter. He waited expectantly for the voice to continue. "A man named Chuma Adjo."

L didn't recognize the name. Interesting. "Who is he? Any prior arrests?"

"He was caught smuggling small amounts of illegally obtained gold from Egypt to England. Beyond that, nothing." L tilted his head in thought, crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth at the movement. Why would a gold smuggler attempt to break into an ostensibly ordinary orphanage? Another mystery. And to think he'd despaired the monotony of too-easy chases, too-obvious explanations.

He was actually excited enough to say, "Thank you, Aiber," and _mean_ it. The fingers on his free hand danced over the keyboard to search the police archives for this 'Chuma Adjo'.

"That's an unusual thing to hear from you, L." He sounded almost amused, and L pursed his lips at that. When he'd been kind enough to extend actual gratitude, to verbalize it even, the man thought it funny?

"I assure you, it won't happen again." He snorted into the phone's receiver.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that." There was a short pause, the sound of chewing, and then, "Anyway, I sicced the coppers on'im." More chewing. "Lucky Wedy's so good with electronics, eh? Didn'even know you could phone English cops all the way from here 'til she told me..." There was the sound of liquid being swallowed and then a content sigh.

"Are you still in the United States?" L asked, annoyed that he hadn't thought to check before now. He should be aware of his agents' locations at all times. Perhaps he should make them wear GPS's...

"Yeah, for now. Then I'm off to see my family." Since Aiber was still in the States, he should be in Brooklyn by now. Knowing that, L easily hacked into JFK Kennedy International Airport's database and pulled up Aiber's flight information.

"You're travelling directly from Brooklyn to France?" L made sure it sounded more like a statement than a suggestion, so the man would know that L was aware of his location. Aiber made an unconcerned agreeing noise.

L smiled thinly. "There is something I'd like you to pick up before you leave."

* * *

The room was empty except for a large, currently occupied, chair. The man in it fisted his hand, nostrils flaring in anger.

"You set off the _fire alarms_? How did you even-" he barked, biting back a string of curses. Of all the foolish ways to call attention to himself, and from someone he actually considered intelligent -

There was a grunt, a gasp of surprise, before he could finish the sentence. The receiver made a crackling noise. Then an authoritative voice, muffled by distance, went: "Hands in the air!"

The phone promptly clicked and died, and this time he cursed out loud. Stared at the phone for a minute, mouth tightening into a flat line.

The Red Painter blew out a breath between stiff lips. Everything you wanted done, you had to do yourself.

* * *

**A/N:** RL always happen and ruin things. And to think I actually had a few pages of this written before real life decided to be blah. Anyway, unneeded summary: wherein Matt has useful quirks and is kind of awesome even if his theories are all wrong, Huan is also pretty awesome for a Dreaded OC, L is creepy and obsessed (and rude to conmen over the phone) and the Red Painter is also on the phone. And also quite rude.

As always, I'd appreciate knowing what you thought of this chapter! Even when I don't answer, I still read every review. Did you think the different POV's broke the flow? I usually don't do three separate POV's in one chapter, especially not in smaller pieces like this.


	15. With Eyes Open

**Changeling, chapter 15:**

_[…] if there's anything that would kill me, it is to **wake up in the morning not knowing what to do**. - Nelson Mandela_

* * *

Harry woke up feeling like someone had scraped their nails down the inside of his skull. Groaning softly, he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and didn't even realize his arms were bare until he felt sheets slide against them. Eyes slitting open, he saw that the room he was in was unlit and quite bare. It faintly reminded him of the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

"You gave us quite the scare, you know," a female voice said and Harry turned his head and saw that Asian woman, whatever her name was, backlit on the threshold of the door. "May I come in?"

Drawing the sheets up to his chin as he tried to sit up without jostling his head too badly, Harry pursed his lips. "It's not like I can stop you," he said with a shrug more nonchalant than he felt. She must have seen his body. His stupid, damning, suspicious scars. She must have. Panic clawed at him, threatening to show on his face.

"That may be, but I'd still prefer having your permission," she said calmly, still waiting by the door. Harry nodded and only then did she approach him. "I think you took ten years off Matt's life, and considering how many decades Mello has already managed to shave off with his stunts, I daresay I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up with a full head of grey hair in his twenties." She pulled up a chair without waiting for a response, and Harry drew the sheets tighter around himself without commenting.

"I hope you'll be happy to know that your heart-rate, which was quite dangerously elevated, is now back to normal." She looked at him, and the realization of what had actually happened slammed into Harry. Right. The shower- a _vision_- ah, bloody hell. He felt a shiver creep up his spine. Just remembering the feel of drowning in the vision made his stomach clench. "And the bump on your head will take a few days to heal."

"Oh," Harry said, absently reaching up to feel said bump as he forced his panicked thoughts into a semblance of order. Was that why his head was pounding? He couldn't precisely ask the woman whether his headache was more likely to have been caused by falling on his head or having a nightmareish vision, and so kept the question to himself.

"Yes, _oh_." She reached out to fiddle with a long tube that Harry only now realized ended in a small square box attached to the top of his hand. Huh. He must be more out of it than he'd thought not to notice an IV, or whatever it was. She sat back, crossed one leg over the other and sighed. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me, if you know, what that was about?" The question came out flavored with a mix of resignation and exasperation, like she already knew he was going to deny her information and was asking just to get the question out there.

Though she was right in her assumption, Harry frowned a little inwardly. That wasn't a very good tack to take if one wanted an honest answer out of a person. Even more so from a child, he imagined.

"Where is Matt?" Harry asked, and watched the woman blow out an explosive breath. She didn't look surprised at the unsubtle evasion though.

"In his room, I hope," she said flatly. "You've been asleep or close to it for two and a half days, so right now you're not the only one abed. Hopefully." She then muttered something inaudible under her breath and ran a hand through her her. A twinge of guilt moved through Harry's chest, because the woman was thoroughly dishevelled. With her clothes wrinkled, bags under her eyes and hair like tumbleweed where he'd previously only seen it perfectly done up, she looked like she'd been up for days.

He cleared his throat. Despite his own feelings about her seeing him like that and the thought of the trouble it would undoubtedly bring him, she'd done nothing but been helpful. "Thank you."

"Yes, well." She made to shrug, a tired movement with slumped shoulders, and then gestured to his bed. "You might as well go back to sleeping. Morning isn't for a few hours yet."

"You're not going to ask me anything else?" Harry inquired, looking at her steadily and trying not to seem too surprised. He'd been expecting a one-woman Spanish inquisition, Madam Pomfrey-style. The woman laughed a short, dry laugh and shook her head.

"As much as I would like to converse more with you, you're not the only one in need of sleep. I had to ascertain that you weren't concussed, or had received any other head injuries that would flare up in any way as you slept." She rolled her shoulders and covered a yawn with her hand. "We have the results from your aptitude test," she said when Harry remained silent, picking up a folder and putting it on the small table by the bed. "You can look at it when you're done resting."

Harry glanced at the folder, but his curiosity was overshadowed by the concern that his scars would have revealed too much to the caretaker. And to Matt. He didn't know what to do, and that was not a pleasant feeling. Nodded briefly, and then settling into the bed more deeply, he kept himself covered to the chin all the while. For all the good that would do now.

The woman's eyes caught on his own for a second, and the flickers of worry about her tired face made him close his eyes. Everything was spinning out of control. She murmured a quiet good-bye and stepped out the door, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut harder.

The room was left in the kind of pale darkness that allowed him to see the outline of the furniture, so when the caretaker's steps had faded, Harry sat back up again and then walked across the room to lean on the door. Something in his thigh tugged and Harry looked down to find the stitches from the Painter's slash re-bandaged with a smaller wrap of gauze.

He shouldn't have gone to the showers. He'd avoided water so assiduously since he realized how out of control the scrying was, so how could he have fooled himself into thinking that he'd make it through a shower session? There was trying to stay unnoticed by not protesting doing 'normal' things unnecessarily, and then there was letting his fear of being discovered run him headlong into- into what had just happened.

And on that note, what had those golden droplets been? Harry's brow furrowed, even as he kept most of his attention on the slim gap between the door and the door frame. Opening it as quietly and carefully as he could, Harry stuck his head out, pursing his lips when he realized that he didn't recognize the room in his view. It was brightly lit, with beds along both walls and a flat TV in one corner. Another infirmary room rather than an exit. And there was a camera in one corner, a small light blinking red as the lens turned slowly to overlook the room.

Harry gently shut the door again before the camera's gaze could reach him and went back to the bed. Should he run? He didn't know what they thought was really going on with him, but sparking their curiosity in this way would never end well for him. It was bad enough Mello already had some vague, thankfully unformed suspicions because of that vase falling; what if he or one of the others started connecting the dots?

A voice that sounded eerily like a young Hermione questioned why they would connect him fainting in the shower with a vase breaking, especially since Mello was the only one to have seen the vase fall. More likely was that they'd be suspicious of his scars, and even if they were, those suspicions couldn't possibly fall in line with the reality of their presence...

Harry slowly dozed off to his mental Hermione's rationality, still cocooned in blankets.

–

There was a knock on the door, and Harry sat up ramrod straight at the sound. He couldn't actually keep anyone out no matter how badly he wanted to be left alone, not without using his telekineses, so- "Come in," he said and watched as Matt stepped through the door with a tray in his hands. The red-head smiled at him, but the expression didn't do much to lift the shade of darkness hovering about his gaze. Blue-greens and grey-purples' swirled slowly about the teen's form and Harry tried to keep his frown to himself. Worry and dismay were the essence of those colors, and such emotions would definitely mean that the teen wouldn't just leave him alone. As expected, really, as inconvenient as it was.

"How are you feeling?" Matt asked, stepping closer and moving an uncomfortable-looking chair to Harry's bedside.

"Alright," said Harry, running a hand through his hair, trying to seem less tense than he was. Matt placed the tray on top of the folder the caretaker had left behind and pushed it closer to him.

"I brought you tea and fruit." He paused and then moved a small tin to the edge of the tray. "And Huan said to give you these." Matt tipped the tin and a handful of pale yellow pills rolled out. The redhead seemed faintly apologetic and the air about him made it difficult to stay annoyed with him, as much as Harry resented the interference in his life. "Just a vitamin supplement," he explained and Harry could see the sincerity float around his face. He still didn't like it.

"How do I know they're just supplements?" he asked, and tried to tell himself it wasn't just to stall the inevitable questions Matt would have. The teen sighed, a wry smile on his face. Harry eyed him more carefully, and saw dark circles under his eyes. Now that he was looking closer, there was a taint of weariness behind the other colors in the teen's aura.

"You don't, I suppose." Matt gave a small snort. "Mello asked the same thing, once upon a time. Logically though, we have no reason to hurt you-" more worry in his colors and a quick flicker about his fully covered body made Harry's teeth clench - "- which I think you know." He held one of the pills and a glass of water in Harry's direction. "I won't force you, but trust me when I say that if I could convince the 'paranoia on two legs' that is my friend to take these, I'm pretty sure I could convince you. Eventually." He tried for a smile, to lighten the mood a little, Harry assumed. It was a very good attempt.

"Fine," Harry said and took the pill, throwing his head back as he swallowed it. He knew by Matt's aura that it wasn't poison, so why bother delaying it further? Surprise temporarily overwhelmed every other emotion in the red-head's aura, and Harry couldn't help the curl of vindictive pleasure at that. They were cornering him, no matter if they meant to or not, and Harry had never responded well to being cornered. He didn't want to hurt Matt, but acting according to his expectations and being generally cooperative wasn't something he felt like doing either. For a brief moment, he wished for Mello's presence, because then he could have lashed out verbally more without feeling bad about it.

"I was expecting more resistance, but I suppose that's just because I've been dealing with Mello for so long." Harry said nothing, and when Matt handed him an apple, he took it without complaint. It tasted like cardboard in his mouth, and his stomach was so tight with tension it took some real effort to swallow.

"Did you take a look at the results of your test?" Matt asked after a few minutes of silence but for Harry's chewing, moving the tray out of the way. Harry shook his head. "Mello's been quite curious," he added with a half-smile. Harry snorted.

"Curious like a shark is curious about the scent of blood?" Giving Mello information was like bleeding in a Black Lake mermaid's presence; at least that was the feeling Harry was starting to get. He pushed a fist into his stomach and took a discreet but deep breath. This worry wouldn't do him any good, and neither would refusing to eat, since he'd already been asleep for a couple of days. An IV could only sustain you for so long.

"Harsh," Matt said with the half-smile still in place, and picked up the folder. Harry tensed a little, but instead of opening it to read the results for himself, the teen handed it over. "But Mello isn't the only one who's curious, you know," he added with a fuller smile.

Harry made a non-committal sound as he skimmed over the first paper in the pile inside. The heading mentioned that a primary schedule had been included, and that this was a summary of the review of his scores.

**Common Knowledge:** Two thirds of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated basic course. (May be be tested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

**History: **Two thirds of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated basic course. (May be be tested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

**Mathematics: **Two thirds of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated basic course. (An examination may be requested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

**Medicine:** Less than a fourth of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' basic course. (The entire course must be completed. Testing is withheld.)

**Computers:** A little less than half of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated basic course. (An examination may be requested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

**Psychology:** A little more than half of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated basic course. (An examination may be requested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

**Philosophy:** Three fourths of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated journeyman course. (An examination may be requested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

**Languages:** Results withheld. Further testing required for an accurate gauging of depth of knowledge. Assumed to be at expert level at this point in time.

**Astronomy:** All questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated expert course.

**Social Intelligence:** A little less than half of the questions answered. You have been signed up for this class' accelerated basic course. (An examination may be requested at your leisure to proceed to next level of this course.)

"You're very quiet," Matt said, tilting his head. Harry looked up at him with a questioning frown. "Your results can't have been that bad," he continued, sounding confident. Harry supposed that since the teen was aware of his language ability, he felt he had reason to sound so sure. Or maybe he just meant to be encouraging.

"I don't really know what to compare them to," Harry said with a small shrug. Which was true. Was there anything below the basic level of courses? How well did a Wammy's kid usually do on this test?

"Would you like me to take a look at them?" Matt asked carefully, and the tone of his voice more than his colors told Harry that the teen genuinely didn't want to push. That lack of invasiveness was the only reason he decided to share the paper with the teen.

Matt's eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he read and then he looked over at Harry with a small smile. "These scores are nothing to sneeze at, Harry. Ending up in more than one or two accelerated basic courses is pretty uncommon for a newbie."

"But not unheard of," Harry concluded from the tone of Matt's words. Relief stirred in his stomach, unclenching some of the knot there. He didn't want to be in the spotlight, didn't want to be the very best of the geniuses. It should probably gall him that a bunch of _real_ children apparently had similar scores to his, but all Harry felt was a sense of having dodged a bullet. That frog-man was interested in him enough as it was.

"Nah, not unheard of." The teen grinned a little at him, and Harry got the distinct impression that Matt himself had ended up in more than a couple of accelerated courses. "But this though," he said with bright eyes, flicking his finger at the Astronomy section, "- this is pretty damn rare. An expert score in two subject. Well, I guess I expected that on the language section. Why did you need further testing on it, though?"

Harry's voice was dry when he replied, "The test was for Spanish, Italian, French..."

"And no ancient Greek?" Matt looked like he was trying not to laugh and Harry shook his head at him. "Yeah, I guess they wouldn't have included that." The redhead sat up a bit straighter and looked him more carefully in the eye. "The astronomy, though. You didn't mention your eccentric instructors teaching you astronomy. To the point where you're on an expert level in the subject." His curiosity lacked Mello's sharpness, but Harry still felt himself pull back at that question wrapped as a statement.

"No, I didn't." He barely kept himself from crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

"Ah, keep your secrets. What would a prospective Wammy's heir be without them?" Matt rolled his eyes good-naturedly and Harry let himself relax again, before the words registered.

"What?" _Heir?_ Harry saw Matt's color flicker with quickly smothered panic, and the part of him that wasn't focused on their conversation was impressed at how little of that panic showed in the teen's expression.

"Damn. I've really been up for too long..." Matt muttered, his thumbs tapping a soft rhythm onto the sides of his index fingers. "Nothing." He paused, then amended, "Or more like, I can't tell you."

Harry stared at him and tried to read anything worrisome into his aura, but Matt just seemed resigned and annoyed at himself. "But I'll find out?" He would push, not yet, not since he couldn't sense any threat. But he would remember what Matt had said just now.

"Eventually, yeah." Matt rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "If you... if you enter the race for the Letters."

"To become the next L." He didn't want to get involved in that. He wanted to focus on those old scripts from the library. And he wanted his freedom.

"Not interested?" Harry threw the redhead a flat look and Matt nodded, looking thoughtful but not altogether surprised. "The competition can be fierce though, especially if the Letters find out about your results. And no, I won't tell them. But there are ways to find these things out," he said and then shrugged, though the spots of brown understanding aura were shaded in blue-green. It sounded seemed to Harry like Matt was already sure that his results would be found out, and with that thought in mind, it might be better to just prepare himself for it. It wasn't like he wasn't used to being resented and envied.

A minute passed in silence. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about." He breathed out in an explosive sigh and Harry felt the muscles in his back tense up. "You know I've seen what you- what your body looks like."

At that, Harry immediately blanked his expression as much as he could, sliding his Unspeakable training over himself like a sheet of ice. Matt must have noticed the change, because grey-red flecks of wariness rose around his head. The worry was still there too, amplified, and he hurried to continue, "I'm not going to ask, I mean, it's not that I don't want to know- but it's your story to tell. But, uh, L decided that you need someone to talk to. That you need to talk to someone, I mean." He looked remorseful as he spoke and Harry saw a shelf on the other side of the room behind the teen, begin to rattle, faintly.

"L decided," he said slowly, forcing down the emotions that were triggering the tremble in the shelf and the slight flicker in the lamplight above their heads.

"Harry, you can't- You don't have to talk to _me_, but you know this isn't healthy. You're smart, so you know that you're not at your best right now. I don't know what you've been through, but it's not difficult to tell that it's something bad." Matt looked even more apologetic, though the wariness had increased to the point where Harry could glimpse it in his eyes at well.

"They can't force me to talk." Harry wound his arms around his knees, keeping his eyes locked to the teen's. If there was one thing he'd never reacted well to, it was being pushed around.

Matt nodded. "They can't. You could sit and stare at William and not speak a word."

Harry breathed out slowly. '_William', huh?_ "I could choose not to meet him at all."

"You could, but L might decide to lock him into your room with you if you refuse completely. Just to get a reaction out of you," he added with a faint but jagged smile, like he didn't approve of what he was saying.

Harry heard the pounding of his heart in his ears like a distant roar. "My past is none of L's business," he bit out and Matt jumped when a painting on the wall to his left crashed down to the floor, breaking the glass that covered the canvas. He turned to stare at it, obviously confused, and Harry almost cursed out loud. For Merlin's sake, he'd been as immovable as a stone statue in the face of _Death Eaters_ and now he was on the verge of exploding at a teenager for being the bearer of bad news. _Because you thought this world was going to grant you freedom. A new beginning. No plots to ensnare you, nobody out to get you,_ a voice in the back of his mind murmured. For some reason, it sounded a bit like the mocking tones of Draco Malfoy.

"He doesn't see things that way," Matt said slowly, eyes still on the painting laying face-down on the floor. "Anything and everything he's curious about is L's business, in his eyes. And you are a curious kind of person, kid."

Harry had a sinking feeling that if he didn't at least go through the motions of meeting with this William fellow, L would just get further involved in his business. Maybe box him in even more. Something in Matt's tone made him believe that it was something the detective had done before.

"And when does the_ illustrious_ L want me to meet with this William person?" He tried to keep the sharpest edge of his resentment out of his voice, but from Matt's expression, he didn't quite manage it.

"William is already here. That's actually the reason I'm here. I wanted to let you sleep longer, but your primary schedule has been completed and classes start tomorrow, so there isn't much time. Huan agrees that you should talk to someone, preferably before you step into a classroom with the other kids."

Harry had been able to tell that Huan was sincere in her concern, but having yet another person nosing about his personal life made his teeth clench. It felt like they wanted to rush him into this so he wouldn't have any time to work up a proper refusal, but that might just be his resentment talking.

"Fine. Where is he?" He play pretend with the mind healer. _Psychiatrist_. It wasn't like he'd be able to tell the truth even if he'd wanted to, so it'd all be a monumental waste of time on all their parts. But if this was the best way to ensure that he wasn't pushed into an even smaller corner with even less choices... well, it wasn't like he'd never been in worse situations.

Matt looked surprised, and rubbed his hands together in a way that looked nervous to Harry. "In an office further down the corridor. I'll leave you to get dressed. Take the time you need, okay? You can come out when you're ready." Harry would bet that that wasn't something L had encouraged the teen to say, but Matt's own feelings about the situation shining though. The teen didn't seem to like the apparent rush-order on his and William's meeting either.

Matt left, and Harry slowly dressed in clothes he imagined Huan had laid at the foot-end of the bed, determined not to hurry just because the bloody _psychiatrist_ was waiting for him. Images of the water, turning into golden droplets in front of his vision-hazy eyes intruded into his bubbling anger at the situation in general, which in turn lead him to look over at the painting he'd rattled off the wall.

He was going to have to start making controlling his powers into a priority, and not only because a vision had knocked him out for days. The thing with the painting had been way too close; he couldn't afford discovery right now. Or ever, preferably. Not on top of everything else. And what had the vision meant to tell him, anyway? _All my new abilities were supposed to be boons rather than obstacles_, Harry thought. But the vision could still have meant anything. It could have been a message or a warning- a, 'this will be of use to you!' or a, 'mind you keep an eye out for this!' or even a 'stay away from this!'. How was he to know?

Thoughts whirling, Harry made his way out of the room and into the other infirmary area he'd only glimpsed before. It was empty but for one sleeping child with a breathing mask in a bed that looked to big for such a small body. The corridor outside was completely empty and Harry walked towards the only open door in a row of doors to his left, feeling slight flickers of Matt's emotions coupled with someone else's.

William the psychiatrist was not what Harry had been expecting. With enormous glasses perched on a bruised nose in a half-familiar face, like a character from some old muggle show Harry might have watched sometime when he was much younger, and both his hands bandaged down to the last finger, Harry briefly thought that perhaps William should have joined him in the infirmary instead.

"You must be Harry," the man said, brushing the bangs of his glossy pale hair to one side of his face. He must use a lot of that shiny spray stuff Lavender had been so fond of once upon a time, Harry thought even as he nodded. "Nice to meet you. I don't know if Matt mentioned, but I'm William. William West."

So he had a last name he was willing to reveal? Perhaps he wasn't a member of Wammy's. Or else it was a false name.

"I'll leave you two to it then," said Matt with a half-smile in Harry's direction and a wave in William's.

"Indeed. Thank you for escorting me," William said and the smile he gave Matt seemed misplaced on his face. Probably because the bruise on his chin seemed to pull at the flesh, making it a very wobbly expression. Harry was faintly reminded of Snape, who's face had appeared equally strained whenever he attempted an expression not in his usual repertoire.

"I apologize for my startling appearance, young man. I promise I don't usually look like this." His aura was so muddled with different emotions that Harry was starting to wonder if in addition to an infirmary-visit he shouldn't also get a psychiatrist of his own. He could barely read the aura; it was like someone had poured paint in every color of the rainbow into a bucket and now he was trying to separate the different nuances. There was some sharp curiosity, he thought. Orange-red inquisitiveness and tangy red attentiveness. Harry thought some wariness was mixed in there too, but it was hard to tell. Probably worried about setting him off, especially if Matt had told him about how he'd reacted to mention of his scars.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to make his voice as mild as possible. He seated himself opposite West, leaning a little on the table between them.

"Car accident. I was actually supposed to be here quite a while earlier, but I was stuck in the hospital until the day before yesterday." Harry hummed in answer. It seemed more likely to him that William had been out on some errand for L, or maybe a violent errand of his own- because he sincerely doubted that the man was just a psychiatrist. There was something about him that had an edge, like some aurors or even muggles soldiers did.

William continued with a slight smile, "I know that you don't want to be here, and I can't say I blame you, but I hope to make our conversations as comfortable and productive as I possibly can." He poured them both two glasses of water, and as he avoided watching the stream from the decanter, Harry tried not to let his mental scoff sound through his mouth. He wasn't planning on helping with the 'productivity' of these conversations. He was going to try to get himself out of them as quickly as possible, either by stonewalling the man or by giving him only what he'd need to leave Harry alone.

That was the plan. Then William leaned over to place one of the glasses closer to Harry's side of the table, and the thin chain around his neck fell over his collar.

Alone in the middle of the chain hung a large piece of gold, shaped like a drop.

* * *

Matt hurried into the corridor, closing the door behind the bandaged doctor and the miserable Harry. That hadn't gone nearly as well as he'd hoped it would, though that wasn't surprising in the slightest. Matt knew that if he headed down to his room Mello would definitely ambush him with questions right away, so he turned towards one of the doors that would lead him down and out into the garden.

The gazebo tucked into a corner of the yard was largely unused, with vines crawling up its side and curling over its roof. Matt plopped down on one of the attached benches, ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the strain in his shoulders. Damn, but there was something wrong with that kid. Harry. _Hadrian_. Something lonely in him that had turned cold and was on its way to becoming dark. Mello had teetered on that edge before, so Matt recognized the signs.

And those scars... Matt didn't even really want to think about where they'd come from. What kind of person would do that to a kid. He wasn't like L or Near - who could look analytically at the most disturbing of situations without bothering to pause for some kind of emotion reaction - or even Mello. Though his friend, at least, had his own special brand of empathy that was as abrasive as the rest of him.

"Fuck," Matt muttered to himself. He should just settle in to play a game for a while, because there was no point lingering on these thoughts. He'd just make himself unhappy.

"Huh, it's not often I hear you cursing," a voice said to his left around a mouthful, and Matt recognized the sound of words spoken through bits of chocolate enough to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. So Mello had known that Matt would come here to avoid him.

"The situation warranted it," Matt muttered, wondering if should attempt to get rid of his best friend before Mello invariably started in on his interrogation.

"Damien was ranting about our newest addition, and I couldn't help but be curious." He ignored Matt's snort and sidled into the gazebo, slouching into the bench opposite him and kicking up a heel to its edge. "Something about fainting and you and Huan being '_total heroes'_." He swallowed another piece of chocolate and grinned.

Matt knew the blonde was angling for information, but though he had a tendency to cave to Mello's demands, he sincerely didn't want to break Hadrian's confidence when it came to something so serious. That flat look on the boy's face, coming up like a shield when Matt pushed him... No, this wasn't his secret to reveal, especially not to someone as relentless in pursuit of knowledge as Matt's best friend.

"Whatever." Mello rolled his eyes and slumped down even further, eyeing him casually over his chocolate. The other teen had been his friend for too long for that stare to intimidate him, but Matt knew that the look in his eyes meant that Mello was only biding his time until a more advantageous moment to ask his questions popped up.

Matt leaned back, attempting to focus on anything but the mental pictures of a small scarred body. He wouldn't be able to sleep this night either, no matter that a weary headache pounded on the inside of his eyelids like something was trying to push its way out from his eyesockets. "Need to replace that painting," he muttered, mostly to himself and only partly to keep the silence of Mello's regard from bearing down on him too heavily.

"What?"

"A painting fell from the wall in the infirmary. Broke its frame, I think." Matt rubbed his face absently, reaching a hand into his pocket and closing it around his Gameboy just to feel the solidness of it.

"Why? You punch the wall or something?" Mello's voice sounded like his lips were upturned in a small cat's smile. Sly.

Matt snorted quietly. Mello had punched more than a few walls in their time at Wammy's, especially back during that dark period when he'd been poisoning himself with drugs. "I'm not you, Mello. It just fell down while Harry and I were talking."

There was a pause, and then a creaking in the wood of the bench opposite him as Mello shifted. Matt didn't bother to look at him. "'Just fell down'? What, without provocation?"

Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. Were was Mello going with this? He was too tired to keep up with cryptic remarks. "Basically, yeah."

Mello hummed, and there was something slick and sharp in the sound. Matt opened an eye to look at his friend, at the way the other teen's eyes were staring intently at nothing as he thought. "Just like the vase, then."

As was usually the case with Mello, Matt somehow found himself drawn into the conversation. "What vase?"

"When the fire alarms went off, you remember?" Now he had the gall to sound annoyed, and Matt almost blew him off just for that. But it wasn't fair to take out the frustration that had been building in him since the shower debacle on Mello, so he bit his tongue instead and nodded. Did he remember it? It felt like ages ago, though Matt knew that wasn't the case. Yeah, somewhere in the supposed genius parts of his mind, a vague idea about a vase falling off a buffet rose to the surface...

"So first a vase falls for no reason, and now a painting. And Hadrian was there both times." Mello sounded like he was just musing casually, but Matt recognized that head tilt as a prelude to one of his crazy theories. Like when he'd decided that Near was a Russian spy back when the two of them first met. Or that time he thought Augusta might be possessed by demons, though perhaps that had just been a remnant of his strict Catholic upbringing. Sometimes Matt was convinced Mello drew these nonsense conclusions just to amuse himself, but then at times he'd be completely correct about something that had at first sounded completely ludicrous. Not often enough for Matt to feel anything but irritated at his friend right now, though.

"So?" he prompted, wondering exactly where Mello was going with this. Spies from the continent? People in the walls that Harry signaled, who then threw things to the ground for him? Force fields?

Mello smiled with all his teeth showing and Matt wanted to clap a hand over his eyes at the expression. "So this means we have some detective work to do."

* * *

**A/N: **It's been a year, I know. And I'm sorry. But I did tell you that none of my fics were abandoned ;) Since I haven't been in these characters' heads for several months, I'd appreciate knowing that the flow of this chapter was alright. And that I haven't written anything that contradicts something in a previous chapter. I have a lot of notes and I've reread the story, but mistakes can still happen.

So. The results of the aptitude test, the entrance of a new character with a mystery around his neck, and a curious Mello... what did you think of it all? Do tell!

**Elelith** actually accidentally got me writing on this again. I'd already started on this chapter months ago, before life got in the way, and then she mentioned the story in a PM and BAM. Sudden inspiration!


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